They handed me the pages,
cold and swollen with nonsense,
sentences puffed like dead fish
on a polluted shore.
A simple thought strangled,
wrapped in jargon’s iron fist,
bleeding meaning across margins,
smothered by self-congratulating smoke.
The words didn’t walk,
they staggered, tripped,
drunk on their own importance,
dragging me through the sludge.
A recommendation, they swore,
hiding somewhere beneath
this mountain of marble
chiseled by pretenders.
I looked for the pulse,
for something alive,
but the heart had stopped,
drowned in its own vomit.
They asked for opinions,
but all I saw—
a grave they carved
with pens full of poison.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: April 26th, 2026 09:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
Wow!! This one tears the agenda off the docket and bleeds rage on the floor. A most powerful declaration of poetic protest against bureaucracy. Well written and a fave my friend
Thank You Soren I appreciate your feedback
You are most welcome Gray
😂Bogged down beneath bureaucratic bullshit? Never ! Ignore the buggers or get legal advice. Great write about something which gives me a nervous rash from time to time.
Thank You Dave for sharing your feedback I appreciate it
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