The Plight of Green

There is an ailment to which one day I hope to revolt,

An ailment that spreads like wildfire,

That makes the small pox feel like the common cold,

To which can change a mans desire

And make a person’s insides chaotic,

A disease that has come to worsen,

Changing people from genuine to barbaric,

And gives life to a whole new person,

Forming terrains, and leaving people for dead,

Alternating them from green to red,

Like liver disease changes a person to yellow,

It is powerful and shows no end,

The good of heart would be gone and left shallow,

Shallower than the deepest trenches,

Relentless to keep everyone engulfed,

Robbing people of all their senses,

All humanity must evolve,

From ashes we must create our own defenses,

And in the trenches we must not dissolve,

For the idea that money is all,

Is an illness passed down by kings,

Afflicting countless men, weak and strong,

A plight to which I wish I could withdraw,

If the power I had to change one thing,

It would be to create a cure for man’s mistake,

To cleanse man’s heart of the almighty eye,

Because there is more to life than meets the eye,

For amidst the day of an untimely decay,

Four inches of paper will not save them from a six-foot demise.