*This work borders more on rap than it does poetry. The 6 poems I've written have all been of varied styles.
I'm sick of sickness, it's like a disease,
provoking for change but still trying to please.
I'm not a doctor, I'm not a nurse,
but I see how this world, has gotten worse.
What's my comparison, I haven't lived long,
forever is not needed, for the world to be wrong.
Looking in a mirror, I see my reflection,
to others their reflection, is a visual infection.
Their inspection is flawed, it's what's wrong with this world,
Lacking direction, like straight hair to curled.
Making corrections, it's their insanity,
when things don't work out, it's all profanity.
Then there are those that compare grass to roses,
infatuated within, a facade of poses.
Pity to pity, or misplaced vanity,
Judgmental and cruel, it's called humanity.
I don't speak for anyone, I just illustrate,
what an artist can't paint, is what I imitate.
Initiate a war, that's our history,
it's all the bloodshed, that's really the mystery.
Taking control has been the primary reason,
"off with your heads," said the man of treason.
See the gold and the silver doesn't fulfill the greed,
it's diamonds that's apparently everyone's need.
Talk to the farmer who can plant a seed,
his crop is the only honest deed.
But it's the honest folk, that always dies,
behind the lies, you can hear their cries.
There will always be someone, greedier than the last,
it's another chapter in our past.
This earth was built on water, sun and air,
it never asked for a human to care.
Yet we tainted it's water, stole all of it's nature,
made it bow to us, eliminated its stature.
Despite all of this it continues to be earth,
Our mother, our land, our place of birth.
She's seen too much, she's stained with sorrow,
we're always taking away someone's tomorrow.
We are her children, yet we resent each other,
skin colour does not make you my family or brother.
This is our past, present and our future for years,
shedding tears like snake skin, only for our fears.
See we kill salmon, herring and all kinds of fish,
but we fail as humans, when we don't kill selfish.
This is our reality, this is our life,
that pain in your back? it is a knife.
See when I started this rhyme, you were fine,
but things changed when you read the last line,
it's been a few minutes but you've been stabbed in the back
and that's why humanity will never be on track.
