Arbors of clientele,
cast by articulate
An owl's coo and flutter the coda
as rustling leaves lull us prey
to strange aspects.
Barricade streets, confine living souls,
you cannot kill the love inside us.
Throw families out into those streets,
starve the poor,
let the elderly perish without a word
from loved ones...
Be clinically cruel as you wish,
it will not kill the love inside us.
You only kindle bonfires that shall
make motes of your feckless cruelty.
The Gates are horrid,
built with the bone and sinew
of indigent test subjects.
Far away on private isles
our wealthy benefactors
are deflowering children
or drinking their blood
to procure eternal youth.
In boardrooms quid pro quo
proudly slaughters millions
to reap robust return.
Pandemic and shutdowns for subjects,
mandating untested but profitable
vaccines to mint trillions for gatekeepers.