The Most Parts Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Change
waiting in
distilled isolation
as the rock, seeking
for rebirth, as a single
grain of sand … from an
islands mass to boulder piles
to stream-bed pebbles, to sandy
beaches to cloudy surf … life does
so move … and sinks to an ocean's
deep becoming somewhat hardened
once again … it is a water weight thingy.
As the island wastes, into distant memory
so does the living times of each member of
humanity … do not take this lightly … name
your grandparents seven times removed!
Only the incredibly wealthy do this …
along with the leaders of a few
cults of religion …
Where then does this leave the
vast mass of remaining humanity?
In dire straits, impoverished, caste
poorly educated, dumbed down to
an early death … peons and sepoys
servants and sex toys, sneak thieves
and petty criminals, liars, and those
politicians!
that last listing being the most
heinous! Politicians are like rogue
police officers. Always guilty but
never punished … for
the most parts.