SATURDAY 19th DECEMBER 2009.

With a sycophant’s laugh,
And a creased photograph,
We marched
To the tune
Of another;

Who with conceited dash,
And a preference for cash,
Would snatch
The heirlooms
Of their lover.

In the hovels of love,
And the grounds up above,
We moved
With the legs
Of dejection,

And with nothing to prove,
And the cogwheels to move,
Their fumes
Bore the stench
Of rejection.

And the mess that remained,
Of our bodies once flamed,
Was strained
Thru the sieves
Of the future,

Until nothing but grain,
And the hope it contained,
Campaigned
To forgive
Evolution.