World Woes

We hustled lives,
called it politics;
shut the loud mouths.
Hid pain behind glamour;
stardom,
over death toll.
Hope,
in white cassocks,
prayed for ‘order';
a soft choir song.
The congregation: a Red nation,
stared,
but sang not this Song.

Order, a lost cause
Hope, a mere noun
Karma, now a wildfire
its birth, your cigarette bud.

J.L