Ribald Restrictions Poem by John Sensele

Take time to tame anger
That soaks your spirits and choke your throat
Parched because it no longer
Can put up with a conman's coat

In whose pockets ponder rockets
Prime to fly lies
That no longer can linger in buckets
That ply their trade in skies

Whose blue hue glues red
Signals to regulate traffic between your soft centre
Gone crimson without any shred
Of evidence to canter

Disappointment to a sentimental sage
Whose skills in salvage operations
Surpass slices of sorrow in an age
When rage on a Facebook page succumb to ribald restrictions.