'dirty Laundry'

'Dirty Laundry!' Tell me why hearts compose when all poems are born in a world full of wastrels (where weakest get slain?) There are bloodstains besmirching blank sheets we would use for bleached pulp comes from trees that won't filter man's air till seed's twigs grow again to tall trees like forebears and engender soft rains that won't wash soil away from diversity found when Man's goals stray from greed. Were the Indians much wiser (less strident in need?) that they lived more a balance of work mixed with play with no castle walls screaming "Look fool! Mine has stairs!" So few ways to hide plunder, who'd steal? Would you dare? If most folks learn same skill sets, why overproduce? If the weak aren't slave labor strong use where's the gain? If life's chores find division that's fair, who's to scorn? Dirty laundry explodes when one must wash my clothes for the meat one would eat (that one can't watch me find!) Truth! Some days the hunt's easy, on others its tough! But one's belly feels rumbles though fresh clothes can wait! Most don't live in the tropics where fruit grows on trees and earth's seasons wax milder than climes near its poles. Love's light binges on grace while pride flounders in wealth! We all crave, hope for sense of belonging but oaths to most tribes fail to satisfy man's dreams, eyes blind to what's real. [God! Man's truth's sad!] We lack the right stuff, overlook our worst faults, feel it's better to hate sin in others than work on our own. We would please those who flatter (who bribe and cajole us). Most souls love delights of the flesh, disregard true faith's health. Long Tooth February 1 in 2023