I am not content.
The president is a charade.
Hate parade's through the towns.
I fidget where I sit
as the bit of love that's left
is traded for dollars or
fame, and who's to blame?
Russia? Yeah Russia,
or those spics kicking dust
up at the border.
Take your pick.
I am not content
as I see hundreds of people
raising hell over hell.
The division line getting bolder.
Division bell ringing louder.
Myself getting older and still
yet unpublished.
And I am not content,
even with smoke in my lungs,
head still hung in silent surrender,
I have something to say!
To hell with it.
A world bent on nonsense
won't listen to a poet.