Saving grace

Surrounded by the dreary lives
of greedy symbiotes who feed
off endless crumbs, empowered by
placid planks of utter bunk
allowing parasites to breed,
the laisse faire society where
mutual needs are sycophant
and grovel in the hollow bins and
empty banks of dead intelligence.

Who would you be if you
could think without the
weight of thousands pressing
at your back, without the
hands that stroke and praise
and flatter this and that;
and grasp and twist and
gobble up your every phrase
as if it was a saving grace.

God forbid you should believe
this calumny of wit, it’s yours you
fool, you’ll never need to see it
in their eyes or hear it from their
sodden lips, or worse, to read it
with a guilty glow of pleasuring
suffused from tits to toes, from
orifice to orifice, from cock to fist.

Now you know my sympathies
are cold and steeled with bitterness,
my heart a fortress ever closed
against the press of fawning
dross and avarice, I will not
feed the symbiotes regardless
of their frantic needs, I have disowned
their plaintive praise, I will be pleased
to struggle on alone.
© I.D. Carswell