The Crap They Serve

The moments hang between the stains of dusk and clinging dawn,
scratched in ageless epitaph across each verse of rhyme-less song.

The anger builds toward aging, denied the path where knowledge runs,
therein betrayed the honor owned, left to steep in fading sun.

Incredulous the false become when to their faltered minds they pray
a mount of sermons spewing, yet not a single word they say.

An age in bringing mind here, sacrifice for “working” gains,
now left behind as youthful hope, in sweat and blood, in honest stains.

So now I’ll leave the peddled path
where minds are bought for selfish lathe.
I’ll leave the future’s rotting yeast
to feed their soon encountered beast.

Into the woods and river’s berm
where hope, I pray, will fast return
to grant a peace so well deserved,
to cast to grey the crap they’ve served!