There is a war on the screen
Full of filth that goes unseen.
Yet all I can do is sip peppermint tea
And regurgitate conceited poetry.

Of days too long where I long to hold
Purpose in me, a spirit bold.
To go forth and spread a message of love
And pray to the science of the stars above.

But it’s a caterwaul of profiteering
And adverts for the hard of hearing.
It’s to my heart, this world’s poison is seeding,
My once hopeful head is now receding.

So it is with compromise that I do age,
A prostituted soul on minimum wage.
I’ll escape out into my fictitious streets,
Where fairytale lovers still care to meet.

Where words are read and held to *******,
To imprint the words upon the tremor of chests.
Where misfortune is fickle and lasts not long,
To where the dandelions may sing their song.