Wrecking-Ball Poem by Mark Heathcote

Where's the honor in deceit, my love
yes, crush us all in your iron glove
and watch your world disintegrate.
Or choose a nobler path and rehabilitate.
You can elect to be the glue, the cement-
or the wrecking ball, it's-your-call.
No one by you shall stand or fall.

You cannot invent or circumvent-
more lies in the hope that-in-retrospect
you can reshape the past and architect-
a new future, but not if it's built on bullshit.
It is only you then who'll be hoodwinked-
amidst the ruins of your lost homeworld
A car wreck standing alone, not yet, sobered.