REFIDENTIAL WRITING

I am constantly asking myself questions.
Am I really the one being singled out for judgmental revenge,
That with shipwrecked men unknown,
to share a common fate of Destiny?
It's hardly a romantic time to be out for a trip.
proclaiming stomach ache, limbs grinding to bone
Endless no nasty rain drumming furiously outside.

Already the honeyed joy of a proud future has passed me by.
Turncoat preachers for a grateful pile of words
continue to poison the legacies of cultures daily.
That two times two is often five, not four.
The earth's withered-drying line of swelling man
Can't earn enough money in his yoke.
Taxes or overheads will rob him as well as any greedy usurer.

What could I have wanted all these years?
My memories are shattered like broken glass
and my crying childish self is a fool,
The confused speeches of a dream.
- Merging into infinity,
The murmuring of the cetacean waves of the sea, in my soul, is the roar:
"Why can't he be united in his will?
one hanging flower or another?"

Do they fear for their cheap, petty, censored-careers, or for the public outcry?!
If there's any truth left in the world,
...as a leaky sieve, the time for human empathy runs out early, or goes to sleep.
Goodness while November's croaking heralds draw
their selfish murderous marches over our heads.
In the stars of eyes little sneaking rays sneak through.
Perhaps a sick, gullible man's hope-bright, sad eyes.
- Even now, daily, the seven-stringed, stubborn grief wounds me.
The dying feeling hurts: is this how it should be?!