A virtuous patient, that stays in line,
could; in spirit, commit a crime,
for living in someone else’s shade,
stirs up the pot, of who’s to blame,
so, ones who’ve always waited their turn,
become a torch, to start the burn,
thus, their words, become like fists,
to those who cause, all red mists,
their built-up torrent, is not abuse,
to bosses who decide, to refuse,
in order for change, to fly so proud,
bad plans, need to go underground,
as brutal admonishment, can resolve,
perhaps tell Parliament, they’re dissolved,
as those elected, are the reapers,
who cash in corpses, for their leaders,
they make sure terms, are screamed out,
to make sure critics, aren’t in doubt,
for immoral brokers, that tap supplies,
can’t get away, when they dehumanise,
and to those who are, the poster children,
they tell them, they could be in cauldron,
Gen-Zs, then ask, “could you be calmer?”
a reason perhaps, for new Jeffrey Dahmers,
they then take a breath, that’s truly earned,
for now their health, is their concern
they then look over, with focused face,
to see if suits, switch attaché case,
but, talking monkeys, are the reign,
thus, such hot air, falls down the drain,
there’s not much love, to be content,
when yelling, “don’t tell me not to vent!”