What of poetry
If it is just a collection
Of interesting words
Dragged out of a Thesaurus
Or the myth of the Iliad
And Plato’s Republic.
What of knowledge
If it is used to oppress
The ignorant
Barely given the opportunity
To climb out of the mire,
Whilst fed a sugar rush
Of colourful lies
And meaningless fantasy,
To keep them all amused.
What of history
If it is only written
By the victor
And the truth is hidden
Within the confines
Of the losers heart.
What of justice
When it is the wielded
Sword of the mighty
And the weakest
Are always guiltier
Than the strongest man.
What of sadness
When it is experienced
By all who are sentient
Unless psychopathic
And they often
Climb to the top
Of the mountain
And look down.
What of mercy
When it is within the province
Of the rich man
With a charitable trust,
Offset against tax
And an offshore haven
To incubate a nest egg,
Who thinks I am worthless
As I think differently
And value
Social responsibility
Over avarice and complacency.
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