Theorem Unspoken

The poor are scrapping crumbs from the tables of the rich
Still struggling to afford rice, spice and tents to pitch
And the growing youth slowly dies in poverty
This, in the metropolis, is a permanent melody

It is not a landlocked country bordered by war
At least not bombs and guns and a bulletproof car
But moral decadence and perhaps policy diffusions
The fumbled communion and upsetting intrusions

And in this silence exist a loud shriek
Continuing to exacerbate until the last creek
Whitewashed, blinded and thrown into the labyrinth
And a decade of stagnation is not really a misprint

Perhaps a malefaction or a misperception
Between unspoken supremacy and a shivered weapon
But who would know what is wrong from right?

Who would have the will to watch what might?

Better yet, who would speak up and lead tonight?
To uphold the truth and once more write?

Or will we all scorn and lock jaws in fright?

Or sell our souls to the fore on sight?

-PRK-

Questioned The Charioteer

Took an instant veer
When things get unclear
When around the sphere
Couldn't hold his spear
When it's very sheer
When it gets severe
To even be sincere
To even revere
Or to interfere
With their yesteryear
For their yesteryear
Never disappear
For the chevalier
Ceased to volunteer
And without a sneer
He then leave a sear
But why are still here?
Still lost in a blear
Why should I still steer
Questioned the charioteer?

-PRK-