Poetry

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Wicked days do we now behold,
for the heart of man has grown cold.
With a corrupted mind, and fithy lust,
so very selfish and lacking trust.
Indulging in every desire.
making the tongue a constant liar,
Creating fear and making weak,
and hateful words only speak.
Helping another is no concern,
each his own, die or learn.
Determined to fulfill the desired plan,
even upon the backs of fellow man.
In the eye, does greed abound,
and enough to satisfy, cannot be found.
For something always is there to crave,
so still wanting more shall enter the grave.
What we've become ashamed am I,
and for hope, can I only sigh.

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