Behold, A Lost Nation. Poem by Sandra Feldman

Nothing makes any sense
Anymore,
The more doors you
Try to open
In search of the Truth
The darker it gets,
Round the obnoxious
Creatures,
That run the Casino's Roulet,
And that conspire, and hire
Water carries
That gift us with
Constant lies
As if they were,
Presents,
And good old
Christmas, pies.

But the truth is
We are all losers
In this Game of Fools,
Where everyone who
Is decent will lose,
Except those that gave
The destructive tools,
To crooks and ghouls
That will eventually
Destroy, all harmony
In this new begotten
Nation of Fools.