There are flowers wilting in a brisque
Hands that raise
bellowing horns to blare
Clothes that only tear
States ruled by a defiant pair
Fingers pointing towards a chair
On the higher ground its a chair claimed by an heir
Paths that can be paved
But no one sees they can be saved
There is hunt for the coloured gold
But also ignorance at its unfold
Claims that understand rage
But rage that is given no voice
Screens that depict perfection
And screams that perfect inhibition
Minds that question morality but not culture
Hearts that question self but not morality
Clear suspension  of deeds
Struggling hand that feeds
Childhood that outgrows
Ends in the corporate that overflows
Passion.,  dedication,  and struggles rarely heard
*** bellies that say they overheard
Hands under tables unturned
The lady with the blind fold
Marred and upturned
Books that make no sense
Knowledge covered in petals is intense
Young minds share the same blind fold
While the lady grips on the hold
Ropes that chastise
Ropes that make you hinder
That is all that binds you in a folder