Most men, maligned, manage their wealth
An end in itself; collect,
Count, clutch it, a metric of health,
Rooted in the ground and kept
In account, foreign to nature;
Men berate men without love
And act as lord of the creature;
Set straight by the Man above.
My peaceful property rocked raw
By hard, scattershot hail stones,
Speeding down, pelting; I clenched my jaw,
The repressed gut moans and groans
Goaded by a lack of control;
Helpless, hapless holder of
Idols acquired to lift my soul;
Set straight by the Man above.
Gary Edward Geraci