First Thought

The rich, famous, notorious, and singers get their lyrical poem written by harp playing bards who as thanks get to eat and sit on the left side of the most illustrious person and whisper flattery into ears that cannot hear, but one voice. The muse has been corrupted by poets, who flew too near the power, I feel like writing a poem to Saddam Hussein, he used to, when young, sell cigarette in Al Basrah, kept Iraq intact till warrior democrats arrived and turned the country into a failed state, but I will desist; after all I have stopped smoking. The tendencies to believe what our leaders say has yet again destroyed a country and a voice in my head tells me how insignificant poetry is, when it tells the truths about us, it doesn´t matter anymore, because no one no listens. The poor are dead or frail and religion is an instrument of torture as the world nears its total destruction, and all words written on paper of trees slaughtered trees´ last breath will, be ash in the wind.