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Through A Pile Of It



When we are not sure,
Of our next steps to take.
Or where we should place them.
Why does it seem,
We accuse, blame and follow...
The ones with their noses up.
Not to smell nor attempt to maneuver,
Around a pile of horse manure.

To then say,
Ultimately the experience will leave...
Something to think about to remember.
That will remain beneficial.

If and when time given permits,
Those bored of conversations...
Discussing how politics,
Came to stink up everybody's lives.
With a doing of it done religiously.
And...
Without a horse around to accuse.
To have beaten,
Many of them to death.
Incredibly incapable to be resuscitated.
By the ones demanding them to relive,
The same repeated nonsense.
Over and over.
As if family heirlooms handed down,
From one generation to the next.
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Submitted by lpahtillah on August 24, 2021

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