A Little More

Every day a little more abstract,
  and then the carelessness
  of contempt that’s sanctioned
  as a fact
(perhaps just heedlessness)

And while the world lines up
  as though arrayed,
  the costumes show to all
  what little value we
  put on what’s paid
  in blood, and cell,
  and stall —

A little more inhuman
  paradise,
  as we dehumanize
  our brothers, sisters:
  in the state we trust,
  and will not recognize —

  that’s us

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant