Disturbed Thoughts

Often when I'm accosted by
A stranger with his tremulous sigh,
I feel an urge to knock him down,
But instead, meet him with a polite frown.

Often I've wondered about this quirk of mine,
How can a person who is otherwise sanguine
Look upon his brethren with no pity,
and later mask it with complete civility?

Often I've wandered about the city
Searching for a companion with inhumane humanity,
Flickers of scorn, glimpses of anger were shown,
That gave me hope that I wasn't alone.

It's then that I'm reminded of
a madman's anecdote - don't scoff;
For, it is representative of our shallow culture
and a true representation of human nature.

When charged with murdering six, and,
Harming three others, he frankly told 'em,
"I'm sorry, I did not intend to harm them,
I merely wanted to kill them."

How true! In this horribly civilised mess,
There is possibly only one way to destress,
For, it is only when man stoops to the level of a beast
that the pressures of being a man cease.

A Sense of Poverty

Out on the road, I met a beggar,
Poorest of poor was he,
Pitying him I slipped across
A coin of fair pedigree.

He pocketed the money with a thankless smile,
And shuffled away from me,
Not content with his gratitude, I
Transfixed him with my oratory.

For hours, I expounded to him
On the virtues of Industry
And chastised him for embracing
The vice of Poverty.

He smiled and led me to a slum,
The stench of sewers hung unbearably,
He pointed out his grandchildren
Who were playing in the mud peaceably.

"Observe, sir, the merits of my vice,
Happier they are than we,
This monstrous world has tainted them not,
Innocence will keep them free."

What right have you, sir, to
Deny us our own small happinesses?

"You, sir , with your frantic shuttling
Are entrapped in a vicious puppetry,
And not content with ruining your peace,
You thrust it upon the impoverished free."

What right have you, sir, to
Deny us our little contentments?

He was getting worked up now,
I tried getting away quietly,
He caught my hand and thrust my nickel
Roughly back at me.

"I thank 'ee sir for you kindness,
But I'd rather not take your money,
I may be poor, sir, I may be weak,
But I still have some dignity."

What right have you, I ask, to
Deny us our dignity?

With that, he turned and
shuffled uglyly awaye,
And I was left with a sense of poverty,
The Nickel- I threw it awaye.