Too Comfortable Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Many have gathered to ask.
Themselves and of others.
"Where do we go from here?
This manure is not pleasant.
Nor is it welcomed,
In our ears to repeatedly hear."

Too comfortable.
Has a hatred become.
To permit the splitting of relationships.
Over foolishness allowed and done.

With an array of false accusations made.
Upon others refusing to participate.
In such madness created on a daily basis.
So sick is this comfort it no longer stuns.
To discover childish minds,
Finding time to spend to undo someone.
That one wanting for themselves,
To live peacefully.
Without unending nonsense everyday.
Expected to begin.

Too comfortable many today have found it.
Wallowing as if swine in pig pens.
Is a way to show themselves down to Earth.
With it done to prove they too can be nasty.
While tossing mud and dirt around.
Found enjoyed and comforting to do.
As a representation,
Of an improved quality of life.
Disliking others they believe are envious.