A Sweet Direction Comprised a Vexing War

The muscle of a projected stance is truly not a legit balance of strength - a poem.

A needlessly viable,
Obvious cancer
Is borne -
A studio beams with glossy letters,
And digital scoreboards
Wax and wane -
The journey of minutes is
A twin, plastic advisory…
Notes beget that listening palace,
And the norms are situated -
The fairytale follows, with its happy faces -
And the jubilant voices no longer
Seek a luckless and lordly genesis!

Heavenly, toasted bread on both sides -
Regularly, the jellies and jams.
And the hands are envisioning
Holding the glamour
Of a heaving, usurping vision;
One of the fruitful cameras
And dreamy artists,
Gathered together for consultation
And vacillating, sculptural martyrdom,
Are feeling elucidating effigies. 

Blinking and never sliding
Helps the aging and escaping deer,
Fearfully not crossing in front
Of the oncoming vehicle -
Trying to avoid lowly trees and hillsides,
The immense property damage
And inhuman squashing
Of doling, pretentious beasts
Solidly rectified…

A trekking unobscured from the wildlife’s
Dedicated agents
Of sticky, clueless remorse
And globular dumping!