Bad Poetry Day in the Rites--Practicing Rhymes

We’ve been wasting our time speaking of Love,
While the World dissolves into tiny shards.

The Pure and the Vile, the Hawk and the Dove.
Economies falling like houses of cards.

We’re too old, too sick and too poor for this.
We’ll be in our graves before we get real.

Every child in the World needs a kiss.
And clothes, and shelter and a decent meal.

Who cares if we never again have sex,
If people are sick and dying in pain?

Our bellies are sagging. So are our necks.
In the meantime, Satan hijacked the train.

I’m surrounded by people, not alone.
Biggest U.S. city just down the hill.

You’ve hidden yourself from all but the phone.
To lick your wounds in a broken-down mill.

There’s no glee in your sorry state of loss.
No winner either in this stupid game.

Stay there and contemplate your  wooden cross
Pray for redemption from a life of blame.

I’ve got books to read and poems to write.
I’ve got friends to love and a world to see.

This weird old lady has a stronger light.
Money and time to get where I should be.

It’s freeing to know you don’t read my buzz.
I don’t really care if anyone did.

‘Cause if I die as one who never was.
It’s better than being a has been, Kid.