Not born yet...
Sarcastic escapists
Inflicting paining stings
Malicious, vicious, as fire ants
Chronically fasten to
Auto-destructive stimulants
Powerless to draw near
To palpable reality
Missing keen eyes
For knowing self -
A stepping-stone
To be born, as Dove, wise...
(needing a Hand to rise...)
No green fields on the horizon
But enduring presence
Of most heinous beast
Stuck in polluted air
On spreading dirt
Perpetually feast
(with death-laden aura flirt...)
Constant driveling of the insolent
Training in downright blindness
As cattle trying to digest
Towering intellect...
Olympic lack of interest
Engaged in woodenness fest
(desolation generation...)
Not born yet...
The cackle of chickens
Cannot dare to ever
With credence anything declare
Of Truth's outstretched Hand
Still intolerably unaware!