Divided Age Of Rage Poem by Matt Western

Age of neo-archaic anarchy, it seems
Obscene virtues of anonymous outfits
Hungry with their appetite for schemes
And their eyes glaring at the prize of profit

Reality check required for heads of state
As they play chequers with our fate

Creating the procrastinating quake of bloodshed
Each life wasted, harrowing sound of lead

Bullets that beseeched and breached the hands of time
With a gaping hole left in traumatised minds

Now wandering the dark shadowy road
Seeking detachment from the blurry episodes

Encountered once upon a time in barren wastelands
Zealots irate must never reprimand
Solace of innate love, which we all understand