Poems

This harvest is special, it is without season

No summer sun, no planting of seeds, no soft falling rain

Without any thought, it’s bounty is taken, with immoral reason

The crop gives up of itself, with confusion and pain

The farming uncontrolled expands, with no consideration

Using and abusing a lately achieved, great infrastructure

The powers that be interwoven, provide no intervention

Exponentially, increasing, binding, beguiling is the culture

The rich and the powerful rubs their hands, with complicit

The produce, have no clue, but continue to downwards spiral

No court, no justice, they are victims, of the deceit

Fixated on the distraction of the last moment viral

So lets be honest, let’s lay the cards on the table

You are the crop

You are the produce

You have one last chance to cry foul…

Whilst you are still able…