They are a mad mass of
political extremists
trying to be free
in this society.

But their collective minds are
turgid tumorous towers
blank expanses
that expand their
oppressive presence
while stifling the essence
of creativity.

I wait for a better world
one without these mad pig pen children
who cry angrily for their imagined losses.

Until, I wait no more, and fresh fields are formed
over our long decayed forms
letting flowers bloom effulgent.
New rows rise full of white and pink roses,
while trees spread their wing-like leaves
allowing nature to finally breath
a gasp of relief
without the mentally diseased
human beings to plague
her floating oblong figure.