The Occupants

light a match to see the day,

clouds have darkened us now

pages from an idle press

avoid the subject of our lives

tender kiss an infants hand

and look into its eyes,

beyond the womb

we are still occupants

figuring out where we stand,

they tell us in a filtered way

we listen, then realise

the answer will be no

bread mops up gravy

but is no good for pain

TV shows give us reality

but that is idle  noise,

we have seen as clouds

stripped back

the ugly beast created

by greed and negligence,

now raise your hands

and raise your voice

the light is upon us

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