'' Each Day We Hit A New Low '' Poem by Bri Mar

Though some will deny,
We humans are mad,
There's an endless supply,
Of both good and bad,
It may well mystify,
There's happy and sad,
We do love to put on a show.

While some want war,
For others, it's tranquillity,
They ask, what for,
Why such hostility,
Warmongers abhor,
The use of our ability,
To love and let lasting peace grow.

Our so-called commanders,
Tell us what to do,
To the rich one panders,
To help see them through,
Whenever one slanders,
What happens to you,
Will certainly come, as a blow.

Those rich in wealth,
Are they really content,
Does living by stealth,
Mean your principles are bent,
I'd rather have health,
Than feel morally spent,
At least I can feel my blood flow.

The business called religion,
Promises so much,
Of facts not a smidgen,
They're a bit like a crutch,
Would you ask a pigeon?
To keep you in touch,
With someone you don't even know.

The shade of our skin,
Is enough to cause grief,
To some it's a sin,
To others a motif,
If we'd see what's within,
It may bring relief,
Perhaps even bring on a glow.

Our injustice is rife,
We detest each other,
In all walks of life,
There are those we'd love smother,
Our hatred is rife,
Among sister and brother,

‘' Each Day We Hit A New Low ‘'