MusingsPoetry

Too Many Rights

It was once white,
the colour of perfection.
Stainless and true
with no trace of fault.

Right, yes still right
what a millennial obsession.
Everyone groping in its spell,
to do no harm and be straight.

To the meat vendor
it is in kilos and pounds.
To the meat doctor
it is in clean with no wounds.

And the strive to be right
becomes a constant daily fight.
With no one loosing sight
of its flame burning bright.

And when right became the norm,
its frame began to lose its form.
Of precarious fledge
and tandem pledge;
to be wrong became right.

With too many rights,
wrongs kept evolving.
And the right of freedom
gave flesh and soul to whoredom.

It becomes right
when lies comes in the night.
It becomes right
when the odds seem light.

And the wrong we hate
found refuge in all we do.
Resident error,
the latest face of right.

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