At a Loss for Words
by dan ankers
As I have gotten older
self pitying has become harder
And I cannot bear to raise
a single glass of selfish sorrow
Without reflective thoughts
on those who live as martyrs
For a cause that no one fights for
and a world that doesn’t barter
As they live and waste away,
an die in hopeless squalor
Alas, there is no merchant who will swap
blood, sweat, and tears
for shelter, food, and water
There is no dealer
who covets what they sell
What simple fool would buy,
that life of living hell?
Nay, there is no fair price
on the market
For the vain gnashing of rotting teeth
and a belly full of dolor
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