There are too many choices;
that stifle every day,
dangerous revving motor cars
upon mind’s motorway,
yet, when it comes to core;
the weird and wonderful,
haven’t got a chance in Hell
for we just choose to fall,
our nods of recognition,
could brighten ever colour,
where warming hug; is not a rape;
making goodness shudder,
recycling norm and nasty,
retains our place in line,
to love the most in war; does mean
our deaths; can’t be divine,
sheep don’t ask the questions,
thus, change has no attention,
resulting in; a sad label
named: traitors of retention;
but we can be the healers;
it’s not weird; to care,
so, why remain so nasty,
and own; all that is bare?