The diaphanous divide made

‘Twixt man and concrete jungle

To satiate the greed; to aid,

To keep his cash all bundled

His morning stroll before his work

Ignores the swelling waters

Spilling over with souls who lurk:

All those scorned sons and daughters

Their oppressed essences of passed

Long summers and bitter springs,

Were proof of the secluded caste

Dead peasants among spry kings

Among the decaying benthos

Detritus seemed to take seed 

Akin to Marxian mythos

The sea was consumed by greed 

He tip taps papers over top

While spilling waste on a whim

Tip-tapping for the blame to stop

Tip-tapping a pseudo-hymn

The canorous chorale conveyed

The ‘truth’ behind rottenness

It cantillated masquerades 

Deracinated oneness

‘The true blame for the tainted land

Is all of you before me

All of your choices have been damned

They must be changed, I decree!’

For all the generations next

They hummed along to his tune

But nature seemed to have been hexed

And to change it was immune.