A is for Austerity
To pay back the Bank
For the Collateral
On your defaulted Debt

That exploded Exponentially
Like the financial Fiasco
Of the Grecian Governments
Indebted to ******'s Homeland

Return to Investors
The rent on your Job
Capital is their Kingdom
The laborers are Landless
Misers enslaved to Misery

The N

Capitalism is fair.
Though capitalists be well bred.
The poor can only care
That they should sometimes be fed.
The rent they pay to capital
Exceeds the nation's rate of growth.
People are mere collateral
When fortunes begin to bloat.
The masses may start to shout.
Though the rich intend to die out,
Inheritances  never croak.
Inequality learns to cope.

Isn't it nice to rhyme
When words strike as divine
Made to fit the part
Unlike free verse aristofarts
Who would **** your mother
Like beatnik Stepbrother
And sleep through their clocks
For nocturnal jabberwocks

If ever was a Good man.
Benny swung with the times, man.
But Jazz rolled from the hits
Of white British misfits.
When South Bronx fell through crack
The sky and hood went black
Poets sold missing car parts
For Busta Rhymes to bust a start.

Poetry had to lose an art.
Rhyming tossed like the ****
Who ****** Lord Tennyson's ****
Which tugged at Victoria's smock.
It's easy to criticize
An age demystified
But now personifies
Poetry commercialized

And the old aging misfit
Tries to gather the spit
With a mouth so dry.
But not a poet in the sky
Will sanction the crime
To help his verse opine
Against the words-of-a-kind
That English bespoke to rhyme.

Oh, poor foolish man.
You led me astray.
You emptied my pan.
But the price is yours to pay.

You could've robbed the rich
You could've stole the earth
But you only took a pinch
Of a man as poor as dirt.

And I've learned a lesson
Less costly to a lord
You could've had a session
With a large and princely horde.

I have taken pity
From those who give sympathy
And share with me their charity
While regarding you in antipathy.

Love of country!
Love of country!
If I had a dime
For every time
They brought out the wine
They'd sell me their piece
Of this country.

Getting old is growing lonely
Passing on the foreboding trophy
Digging the hole for pushing daisies
Singing tunes for avoiding crazy
Stalking memories by retelling stories
Cheating time as reliving glory
Cursing change while swigging brandy
Scaring children wanting candy
Knowing all and seeing phonies
Growing grey is making you stoney
Casting you far
Dropping you coldly

In the engulfing tempest rain,
No honest question I would deign.
Why dampness left another stain
Upon the rust of heavy chains?
For my heart was already slain
Confronting indifference's reign
Alongside the petty and the vane.
For this love had already lain
With the ugly and the insane.
My passion had been drained,
With my back against the cane.
The injuries made me strain.
I hobbled just to remain.
Repetition had beat the same
Until the scars became plain:
You will never love again.
You cannot wash away the pain.

We touch with an air of silence,
A feeling warm, but none too cool.
Our skin can feel the brilliance
Of wading through this reflecting pool.

In the night we'll build a fire
And hang our clothes to dry.
Then let our feelings perspire
And embrace the morning sky.

In a cast of merry men,
Was a man who could not hold
His drink in the hours past ten
Or a sneeze against the winter's cold.

But in the morning he was bold.
He walked naked in the sun.
And if his fate could be told,
His life was nearer to done.

He'd leave behind a daughter and son.
But not the mother that loved them.
The sooner his race be won.
The sooner she be behind him,

To drag his hide back home
And warm him to the bone.
He lay like the pig in the sun.