Poetry in Motion

They say you are more creative when you stress and strain, I am usually in pain.

Screw the science let us just wash it down with a glass of disinfectant, oh that is not funny.

Does it really matter, in the end, it all goes down the pan, washing into an intellectual sewer?

Never say never, always remain resolute, rest assured it will all be in vain.

Life is driving me insane, begging me to bring this start to a conclusion, for what reason, I just cannot fathom.

What was that unknown victim's name, or was it washed away without tears of rain, on a sunny day?

Livestock cannot fly but can rise into the sky as clouds of barbecued dust, singeing to the echoes of foot and mouth.

Send me home from Mars, I am hungry for stars.

Look my cookies full of jars, I so wanted football and racing cars.

Make a choice, is it your place or hers, socially distancing is not on my mind?

If I knew the difference, I would not have a preference.

I did not come this way; it was neither unexpected nor predictable.

Let the storm chasers run, whilst everyone else lays in the sun, doctors and nurses do not need fun, but clap and cheer as one or two may be sacrificed tonight.

In a world ruled by loonies who encourage loonies to buy guns, and rush into the streets to become part of the herd.

Crying out that I could not care less, so long as I get my current bun.

I just need a glass of rum to warm up my tum, my tiny brains already numb, maybe dumb.

Do not expect me to forgo this lack of self-faith, I have cherished for so long.

You might not say that this synaptic miracle, does poetry an injustice, but why, it is riddled with the cynicism and confusion required.

At the end of the beginning, I return to the future, to find the origin of this folly.

Is it my heart's destiny to be half full or half empty, that will not be for humanity to decide?