It Would Be Wrong Poem by Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

Standing upon a strange world
on a disesteemed
mountainous mound
all alone... self-deified.

A pedestal ego perceived created.
As misshapen edifice to own... self-conceit.

Piling plans dreams
spinning lies webs
formulating sticky schemes.
Watch fragmentation
disintegration
of virtue, honour, integrity,
courtesy, moral decency.

All chivalry... which constitutes formulates
approaching mid-twentieth century humane civilization.


It would be wrong
to kiss such boots,
they might put on ears
think themselves above
common muck,
purpose they serve
when user wears.

So abstaining or being reluctant
in their appointed show case task in life.

To make money to get rich
it is so easy-given indiscreet snitch
there is just one tiny hitch
with solicited immoral gain
divine justice cannot agree
it is against power fortitude
of righteous indomitable will.

Even if it is not tainted, Nazi-Jewish gold,
dripping overflowing in a raped bloodied till.


An eternity
of suppressive poverty
hopeless humanity
endures it still.
Sated behind every
great legendary;
fortune fabulous; is crime.

At minuscule very
injurious least
a crime
against humanity.
Rich conglomerates
will not share
guarded selfishly power.

People manipulating these companies
withhold purse; play pulling purse strings.


In third world countries
through skeletal rib cages
desolate winds and sands
builds and sings and stings.

Industrialized countries
some denizens
live under bridges
live like trolls.
So risen names
be added to companies
ego honour rolls.

Mother earth is not alone angels count the toll.
Doomsday clock shall chime ending of present null.


Now approaches dawn
of tolerance justified neo-liberalism.
In gathering dusk reform
of later twentieth century.
Economic exploitation capitalizes
upon minimum paid workers.
As executive policy stealing creamed
fruits of sweat shop labour free-market.


Copyright © Terence George Craddock