Unbeautiful Stories. Poem by Obrie Writes

Why in this damn world,
Must the sickness of the dead,
Be the constitution,
By which am judged?

Education is still the key
To a padlock that rusted.

We learnt not to lie
But lies are what life lies on,
And society blames us
For the unrealistic paths it laid.

He who promised all,
Kept the promise
When he took all
To leave us scathed.

Then, we believed
That the might lived
Yet he that taught us righteousness,
Was arrested for fraud;
Stealing church land.

In the far lands
Jessie hung herself
To counteract the folks
Who sung the praises of
Her prostituting mother
The 'slim' vermin had taken.

When potholes encroached our road
And the boats were bought during the floods,
To let us visit town,
Didn't our representative
Who flew in a helicopter
See the drowning kid?

This land that by choice stood
Without notice became a monarch.

A monarch were the D lady,
Died in hospital for not
Having bought a Mama kit.

Wasn't it known,
That the 'raped' boy
Was mocked by his peers,
When he tried to report.

Or, didn't we all see the judge,
Concluding that the evidence brought
Was merely circumstantial
When young Maria was still bleeding?

That man,
Yes him that peacefully protested
And his shirt was torn with canes
What wrong did he do?

We speak not of fairies
But ugliness everywhere.