Author Information
Quite a Worried World
We gawk at worlds in disgust
At lives lived and left in rust
In anger uproar ringing
No more angel harps singing
Swift fell swoop in motions
At triggered feeling filling notions
Lost man, woman, child
A bitter sweet scent so mild
Worried story teller
Withered story weaver
Stiff silent, sorry singer
Why bring upon anger and fever
To worlds, like a towering dunce
Who had not left his shoe, not once
Sorry singing up on high horses
Knowing not of other world's forces
Not knowing the push and shove
Pecking at stories like a hungry dove
Dirt ridden diseased rat
Sitting on lard and fat
Pish posh, drinks a cup
Teary eyed little pup
Speaks of truths of facts and lies
Flips a burger and salts the fries
