However Yellow

Some say its fate

Some say its hate

 

I say its nothing more than grazing

 

Trampled meadow

However yellow

 

Is the product of the phasing

 

Transition

Its tradition is to try to save the chain

 

But in its haste

To keep its state

 

They never check if stocks in date

.

Militant ignorant’s

Boorish and crude

 

For some unfounded reason

They think that they own this place.

 

Their piece on the board

Will not move till someone says it does

 

But as movement strikes bland

You’d think the pawns invented luck

 

Our home,

Not the playground

Of the cult of fetish death

Guilt should be shat upon

Not placed on daggers hilt and edge.

Humans?

Eschewmans

The instinct runs deep

Forever trapped drowning

Spasm as they breathe

The change that is needed

May not need me

But my conscience speaks volumes

When volume cant speak.

 

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