Death's Progenies Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Fate's breath, wasting efforts,
made from first to last;
scalding one and all,
awash with living's crassitude, no class;
predicament so precarious,
life's tout extols persona crass;
realized ignorance plied whole,
humanity implies but mass.

Corruption's cling cannot be shaken,
so each is stuck in time;
darkness it has humbled hope,
uttered curse clearly mimes;
pervades against all goodwill,
gutting good, increasing crimes;
absolutely dismissive resolve,
our mind's heights, to far a climb.

Memories, so oft forgotten,
leave to soon the vines of life;
bequeath their offspring dreary,
ill-minded truants today so rife;
living's essence, life's link to death,
true son of lowly neife;
epanorthosis, thoughts mislaid,
our path's way, eternal strife.

Thoughts too leave the living,
away in wisps just as in death;
revolve around questioned quality,
unspoken until last breath;
vernacular theme, truth's reason,
hid by death's temporal sheath;
value as earth to worm,
characteristic humane proved uneath.

Everyone values blinded wants,
weighed above true daily needs;
practices impart imperfection,
nativism does advance impede;
guilty parties hide insistence,
resulting sloth society breeds;
constructs, minds above flesh,
create divisive, and cruel creeds.