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Do not bank on a lifesaver

Coming second, first or third

As tall and looming cabers

Scrape skies – hurried and absurd.

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Tossed alongside shining sabre

Toothed-Tiger looking herds

They are timid after taming.

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And self-righteous bees and birds

Practice surreptitious-slut-shaming

In a world of wizened words

Reduced fruitfully like raisins.

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The acorn may be small

But it’s endeavour grows so mighty

From it’s branches to it’s trunk.

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And the flock’s morning call

Along with wings so fit and flighty

Launch from their wooden bunk.

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Just as Icarus looked down on all

Mankind’s eyes are blinded brightly

By a couping Parliament; whose ship has sunk

To a depth that Devils dare to fall

Which constricts forever tightly.

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And makes – a fake of the monk.

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