Hard-hearted men in suits who run this world
(well, so they think, for there are those behind
who pull their strings), though “ruin” is the word,
will one day be stark naked, unrefined.

Before their Maker that will thenly be
when they are spent of life and in the grave.
Their crimes? They had no love or poetry;
they played at ‘god’ and pseudo-power did crave.

So I just watch them strut upon this stage.
They take their soulless roles so seriously,
running around the world on their rampage,
and all to sate their egos’ fervency.

So when I see a suit I run a mile;
I know what kind of mind prefers that style.

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© Copyright, Alan Morrison, 2026
[The copyright on my works is merely to protect them from any wanton plagiarism which could result in undesirable changes (as has actually happened!). Readers are free to reproduce my work, so long as it is in the same format and with the exact same content and its origin is acknowledged]

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