Low Life Livers Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Low life livers,
Seldom are dared...
To make announcements,
As to who they are.
Or...
Appear disheveled.
Not a hair out of place.
When dressing to impress...
Their intentions to address.
Smiling with false faces.

Low life livers,
May stand behind podiums.
Exposing teeth,
Brighter than twinkling stars.
And done to eclipse the Sun.
Dropping jaws awed by everyone.
Only to have their minds left scarred.

Low life livers,
May be skilled to attract followers.
Stunned to numbness until transfixed.
By performances so entertaining,
Cave dwellers from the past...
Many will proudly claim,
To be descendents. Their ancestors.
Revisiting shocked and in disbelief,
They are finally being recognized.
After thousands of years ignored.

Yet the lives lived by low life livers,
Will never change...
An ingrained habitual ritual to throw mud.
From a teaching taught,
When, where and the time to sling it.
Effectively done.
To get the attention,
Upon themselves that comes!
Hoping their visions will invigorate,
And revitalize what has gone to relive.