Brittle Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Brittle is the ground,
We stand on.
And...
Fiddled are the minds,
People find time to play.
Everyday on each other.
Chipping those values.
Allowing it okay to let them fade.

Brittle is the ground,
We stand on.
With a giving this approval to do.
As if there's nothing for the people to lose.

Brittle is the ground.
And...
Here and everywhere found.
And leaving nothing solid anywhere around.

Brittle is the ground,
We stand on.
And...
Fiddled are the values of the people.
That become,
Easily left frailed.
And become,
Easily damaged.
Then becomes,
Disrupted easily...
By the ones caring less,
Who prevails.

Brittle is the ground.
And...
Played like a fiddle are the people.
Allowing their minds snapped.
Panicked by rumors of being attacked.
Self-enacted.
Brittle is the ground,
We stand on.
And...
Brittle to be fiddled are the people,
Played.
Everyday.
And...
Brittle to be fiddle are the people played.

Brittle to be fiddled are the people played.
Fed on hope while being doped.
Brittle to be fiddled are the people,
Played.