Sacred Cows


Every day the wolves with the reins make the rounds

They send the hounds to every door

To make you pay more than the day before

The sky is the limit

The ground is the cap

Just what is their game

A load of bull crap

The idea that a big head and face saying words on a screen

Can dictate meaning

Of what is acceptable and what is intolerable

Of what is God and what is not God

And everything below and in the middle and at the bottom

What use is a temporary body to the universe et al

When the spirit is left to whither and rot

Subjugated to template fanfare and buzz about blithering whatnots

A big production for such a relatively small blue bubble of moisture and rock

Who is in for a surprise and oh what a shock to discover

The end is the beginning and nothing is over

But for now

Oh wow

Holy cow



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Written on 2026-02-05 at 15:41

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