The people are dying like flies

And they no longer are producing like rabbits

I can see the end written in their eyes

So bereft of hope they have lost even the

Last drops of desperation.

 

So proud without

Slack jawed and dim within

As they grin and stare

And click and grin

 

Life belongs to the living

Or it did once long ago

Now the expression of even one desire

Can never be  claimed  as it’s own

 

The mills of the mind grind on

As the docents of the museum demand

It rolls and spins as  the unseen gods grin

Or do they cry to see the waste of the greatness within

 

While the people all die like flies

Not in their time but on other’s schedules

Should I be the party-pooper?

Do I be the one to say

 

That the party is hosted in the abbatoir

Should they be alert to what is  coming their way

The arriving of judgment day?

 

They take poison into body

Toxin into minds

Corruption into their spirits

And love they twist into legions of crimes

 

Life belongs to the living

Or it did long ago at one time

Now life expresses many a desire

That it can never claim as it’s own

 

Do I raise the alarm?

Shout from the hills?

Put it all into a video blog?

Or a casual exchange in a passing encounter

Maybe as good as it gets:

 

“You know girlfriend

That toxic stuff is killing your skin”

Or “You love your cell

But your phone hates you,

But it knows how to cook

Your head that is and oh

Breast cancer is not that cool

But sweetheart  we’re talking about your brain”

 

But I restrain and don’t add on “pendeja fool”

 

They be dying like flies

Yet, you know the one they hate most

Is most often the one that really cares.

The ones that are killing softly, sweetly

Those lies they love to hear.

 

Predators are plentiful

Just like they were

When sabre-tooths roamed the land

And short nosed bears and dire wolves

Took out for a meal

Every cave woman or man

 

Sweet words and politicians

And entertainers that keep lips fixed

On the big money teats.

 

Artists who have their say

Are idiots in most political ways

Or others know

But they don’t care.

And I must include poets

In this disreputable bunch

 

They be dying like flies

Yet, you know the one they hate most

Is most often the one that really cares.

The ones that are killing softly, sweetly

Those lies they love to hear.

 

 

 

Edgardo

Author: Edgardo

Born in Houston, Texas and moved to Raymondvile, Texas in 1969. Family bought a radio station and helped with the family business until it was sold in 1997. Since then started an agency and mostly writes about experiences in Deep South Texas. Writers of the Rio Grande founder, editor and contributing author.

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