Fight It

Each season comes with some reason.
Freezing to please the diseased isn’t pleasing.
The cease of pleas and pleads of deeds drops seeds of greed.
Fleets of fleas, armies with feats like cheats run the streets.
The weather withers whether we batter those that rather be bitter.
The heat of anger and the standard banter bank the slanted rant.
Chaos and madness face-off for status.
For control the dice rolls.
Loopholes on payrolls avoid truths told under no paid tolls.
Over the shoulder looks show the older hooks put there by the bold, the crook.
The boss places taste lost in costless fake tossed process, all nonsense.
Flimsy flattered finished frozen frosting finally falls free.
Eyes reject incoming lies and far information tries to reach and enlighten, make wise.
We rise and together avoid our demise disguised as a prize.


By Jack Thomas