Bolognano slowly dying.
Met my old friend, his voice crying,
Told me he’d lost his loving wife
Alone, he lives an empty life.
The wheel keeps turning.
Young people always leaving now,
Sprung into a world with no future.
Immigrating to foreign lands,
Imitating forebears of yore.
Thus our village dies.
Economic global crisis,
Sick of hearing the self-righteous!
With all their political spiel,
Indifferent to how we feel.
Sheeple still follow.
Sadly my last years will be dark,
Badly needed evolution…
Lost, in old ideologies,
Cost effective mental shackles.
Blowing bubbles in the wind.
Writing poems, encouraging smiles,
Refusing to be crippled by this moral void.
Just being me, is all I can do.