I feel the anger felt by all
But fear it less and hence its thrall
Is lessened. Those who live in fear
Of social mores postpone the dear
For sake of what? Expedience?
The ones who fear experience
But praise its traits in buried folk—
Their praise, their mockery's a joke.
They hold a job, watch music shows,
But can they know achievement's glow?
No risk for values oft invoked;
Results in bloated egos, stoked
By sense of self defied by fact.
The coward pleads her case as tact
And lives a cog possessed by dream
Within the beast that lacks a seam:
It swallows youth and Friday nights.
Cash registers deprive one's rights
As sure as chain once did, but worse:
The mind is held by cash—a curse
That chains the mouth with fear. Resent
My ways. I'm blithe and won't repent.
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