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The Undeserving

What a curse, our wherewithal

To fathom, They, with bane and gall

Play with lives as if mere trifle

Plant the seed, that aims to stifle

Any chance of world at peace

To starve as well as bloat with feast

To grant the most defining trait

Capacity to loathe and hate

Be boundless as the will to love

What jokester lounges far above

Does knockabout with bare a glance

Will throw us crumbs of whim and chance

Then cries to minions kneel and pray

Be thankful we may wake each day

Though even there’s no guarantee

We’re well thought of, begrudgingly

When jerks around the lines of scrimmage

Smirk at thought we’re made in image

By a spirit so self-serving

Bestowed upon us undeserving

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