Corrupt People

Drawing with a stick in the sand.
Trancing the outline of my withered hand.
The sand is too soft and the outline is demented.
It looks very ugly, but I'm going with it.


Planting sticks upward in the sand.
They look like small dead trees.
I lick my finger and hold it high,
But there is no reassuring breeze.
The air is as dead as the small trees.


Later I walk, from one street to another.
I see people who don't notice each other.
I see people hobbling as if they rarely use their feet,
I see kids my age with depressed faces.
I see expressions that I'd rather not meet,
And it's sad to think that all the happy children will eventually join the rat races.
I see people with problems,
And I reflect on my own.
I see people hiding theirs,
And people alone.


The music is blasting.
The lights are flashing.
The party is on,
And everyone looks dashing.
But this party is not for me,
And I hide in my hole.
All I hear are the bass lines.
I can't help but fathom that
This is a corrupt world we live in,
Full of corrupt minds.


These people are angry,
These people are sad,
These people are without hope.
But then these people party,
Trying to find happiness,
But their smiles are just for show.
They're doing what this world tells them to do.
My love, this world is corrupt, and I hope this doesn't happen to you.
This world is corrupt,
These people are corrupt,
And I'm sure I'm messed up too.


I know
Because the most beautiful thing to my eyes
Are the small dead trees
Stuck in the sand.





Copyright © Freedom M. D. Richter 2023