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        WHILE OUR GREAT WORLD DIES    [e-mail]

    It's sad to see our lovely USA
    Being programmed well, for Hell, and disarray.

    Law-makers just don't care, or cannot see,
    They blunder in their Acts--lots should not be.
    They're really lost!  Most stumble in the dark.
    Way, way off course, they shoot, but miss the mark.
    They miss the mark, but will not change their aim--
    Hundreds of guns!--the mark stays still the same.

    The biggest mark is still the Budget's woe.
    They toil for naught, too dumb to make it go.

    The Courts Supreme, plus all the Low ones, too,
    Arraign themselves, not knowing what to do.
    They let the ones they really should arraign
    Invade the streets, enriched, on loot they gain,
    By bumping heads, or selling coke and crack--
    Those should be jailed, no hope of coming back!

    Those vultures--mean--will seldom drink a coke.
    The kind they use is poison for a bloke.
    They let them go!  Our system is a joke!
    O Lord!  O Lord!  Help me!--or I might choke!

    All those who kill should die--to kill no more!
    Yet live for life--appeal at every door.

    Why not a Special Group, after the case,
    Be given six sure months, trying to trace
    Through every crack and nook--all evidence!
    Through all the witnesses--both smart and dense!
    Searching in depth to see if all was right--
    And if all was, and is, Good day!  Goodnight!

    Good day!  Goodnight!  The killer gets a week,
    To say good-bye, to write, to pray, to speak;
    And on the eighth day, quick! some words of grace--
    And killer goes to share the victim's space.

    That Special Group, of course, would have been told
    That any sort of bribe, example--Gold!
    Misuse of trust by one, some, all of them,
    Would end in loss of life!--that precious gem!

    Another thing that's hell--the juveniles,
    Like all the adult cons, use wits and wiles
    To rape, or rob, or kill--with knives and guns.

    Those little animals are real Huns!

    But yet they get away--the system stinks!
    It treats those little bums with pats and blinks.
    It won't allow their names, or show their face,
    To bring their folks their due--Shame and Disgrace!

    Shame!  A five letter word that will do more
    Than all the bamboo canes of Singapore!

    The little Huns should be treated as rough
    As older Huns--but would that be enough?
    The older Huns never seem to receive
    Enough! to satisfy all those who grieve....
    I know! I know, O Lord!  Such grief is great!
    Your life is broken up, and on its plate
    You cannot see a meal, for all you see
    Is vision of a face, a memory
    Still surging through your Soul--not made of stone!
    Still ringing in your ears, and every bone!

    Those little Huns can learn, at every mall,
    Games that would puzzle and make elders stall.
    They smoke!  They dope!  They're well equipped in vice.
    They saunter, strangely dressed; not very nice.
    They kill loved ones.  They murder friend and foe!
    And still our lousy system lets them go!

    The system really clears the road and track,
    By which those killers will be coming back!
    Those killers, they know!  They love the things they do!
    They turn askance, and laugh at me and you!

    I will stop now on this.  That's one full page.

    You wonder why there is no talk of age?
    Because some folks won't think ... they'd just show rage.

    Well, let me ponder this ... hey! snakes alive!
    I wonder if that age should start at five?

    Some parents do a lot; some parents don't.
    Some parents love, but tough!  Some parents won't.
    But does it not make sense:  Till adult age,
    Parents be made to pay for their kids' rage?

    Think well, then let me know--I'm not a sage!

    There're heaps of problems, too, in many schools.
    Most of these problems, though, are caused by rules
    From governments and experts--mindless fools!
    Who play with paper-clips, while their mouth drools;
    And sit in easy chairs--make them use stools!
    And take away their cars!--put them in pools.

    But many things, both Hell and Heaven know
    Would really benefit all students, go
    Through challenge after challenge in the courts,
    Where flawed perception somehow still exhorts
    A strong, strong pull on limpid thoughts and minds,
    Making them reach conclusions through closed blinds.

    The people sue--with pleasure!--for false cause.
    They sue! they lie!--a courtroom scene of wars.

    All lawsuits should be probed, before the case!
    Make all found wanting bear a fine--disgrace!
    For we all ought to learn that life is such,
    It can bring little--or it can bring much!
    And people should not go to war in suits,
    Wearing fine garments--dressed up in cahoots!
    To make a fortune, or to spoil a name....

    Let's come to common senses--stop this game!
    Let us stop wearing all these sheets of shame!

    The lawyers are a strange breed!--what a bunch!
    They'll jump to stride beside you on a hunch.
    It's true!  There are some good ones, but you'll pay!
    Some forget the needle's size--blame the hay!
    My greatest grief, though, is the way they lie,
    With such pure faces, they make angels cry.

    The good ones are not bad.  The bad should be
    Obliged to pay a fine--return their fee!
    But hopeless hopes aside, I think they should
    Return to classes ... to learn bad from good;
    And failing tests of virtue, honesty,
    Be made to represent the worst for free....

    Well, hopeless, hopeless hopes aside again--
    Bad lawyers should be bad, but not in vain--
    There really should be rules and laws that they
    Should have to live up to, or pay and pay!

    No!  I can't elaborate right now.  Look!
    Those rules and laws would take at least one book!

    You think that I'm insane?  I'm glad you do!
    Gives me a chance, my friend, to bite and chew
    Upon the cloth we call insanity--
    So many hues!  Such patterns!  Cunningly
    Designed and fabricated to confuse....
    I'll tell you--everyone of those who use
    Their mangled wisdom to help free a jerk,
    Or keep it from the gallows--what a perk!
    Would change their statements, or would hem and haw,
    Anxious to make it different to the law
    If the so-called insane had killed, in sin,
    Their parent, child, or spouse, or kith and kin.

    And further--just imagine!--what a night!
    Killers just killing everyone in sight!
    And all the dead belonged to doctors who
    Would say "Insane ... insane ... oh yes! you too...."

    Enough were slain, that all those learned Docs
    Considered stuffing their sane mouths with socks!
    And would have loved to gun down all those jocks!
    Stab them to death!--or mash their heads with rocks!

    Do you suppose that all would say "   insane."?
    Do you suppose they'd render boon to bane?
    I don't think so!--though some of them might quail,
    And take the bums from death's to mad man's jail.

    Now, I admit, some folks are really mad!
    But here, we overdo, and all who're glad
    Are insane doctors and their costly schools,
    Where, now and then, they change or bend the rules.

    With elder folks, growing up far away,
    I often to the mad house went to say
    "Hello ... hello ... how do you do? ... I hope...."
     And no one there did anything, but mope;
    Or play with empty jars, or balls of string....
    One thing remembered--such a sad, sad thing!
    Their faces seemed to be so far away;
    Their eyes seemed haunted, and their gaze would stay
    For many minutes on a single spot.
    Though it seemed they were with you, they were not.

    No!  None of them was ever violent!
    They played with cans and strings, and seemed content!

    But here, the rascals sit down, plan the ruse,
    To see the killer does not pay just dues.
    Oh I admit it!  Some must be insane!
    But what those do never bring boon! just Bane!
    Why should they be allowed to act again?

    And those who fake, pretend their minds are gone,
    Should follow it!--the mad live by that con.

    You think I've lost my head?  That I'm not cool?
    You think that I am just a bloody fool?

    A living Hitler would have been judged mad!
    Some low lives would have ignored that he had
    Bred Genocide--and some would have been glad.

    And lots won't think, yet judge me mad--how sad!

    Our racial problems really have not gone.
    The dead still feed the Hates that linger on.
    The great-grand-parents gave it to their kids,
    By word of mouth, low acts, and lousy bids!
    To keep a people who helped bring them fame--
    Who help sustain the greatness of their name--
    Stuck in the mud, in filth, all dressed in shame.

    Grand-parents did not care, and so their words--
    Their words and deeds--altered their blood to curds!
    To curds of Hate, malignant to their soul!
    That's why their kids were born depressed--not whole.

    Those kids grew up deformed, at odds from birth.
    A few of those saw light--increased their worth,
    And brought the ones they'd shamed, a little mirth.
    But lots of them, yet, still, move in the dark.
    Their words, their thoughts, their stories, find a mark
    In little ones they bring into this world--
    And so, the flag of Hate's still being unfurled.

    Those little ones, sometime, will have their own.
    Some will be fine; some will have hearts of stone.
    Some will have pliant minds; some will have bone.
    The pliant might grow swell; the bone will moan--
    And in the Hells of Hate, their clan will groan....

    Although some laws now let the hated breathe,
    Laws--every law--always provide a sieve.

    "The answers lie, beyond all earthly ken,
      Deep, deep within, the sullen hearts of men."

    My mother's parents were so very poor,
    On a poor island ... just their meals--not more.
    My mother, Dear, was one of eighteen born,
    To happy parents--happy, yet, forlorn.
    They were not forlorn at the many heads,
    But at the lack of dough for meals and breads.

    They loved their children.  They went to their tomb,
    Guiltless of having caused death in the womb.
    The thought would never even have occurred -
    At Satan's sly wink, they would have demurred.

    Each of their children died a natural death.
    Eyes gazing upward, each sighed their last breath.

    My mother, too--eleven--was the same.
    I'm fifty-four now--Oh Lord!  Bless her name!
    I was so little, still I hear her cries--
    Great sobs of moaning, groans, as her last dies.
    She wailed for long days, and the rafters shook!
    Such as you find now in a film or book.
    She wailed for long days, running into years.
    I hear her wailing, and I see her tears.

    Every day now, you either hear or read
    Of murdered children--prey to wanton deed--
    Hidden by brutes, so animals can feed.

    Lord!  Now abortion is one way to go.
    A wicked option, lacking love or woe.

    Our Constitution's subject to such rape!
    No! not the paper!--look! some souls' own gape!
    Gaping in terror at how low we've sunk.
    We honour low lives, dopers, drunks--each skunk!

    Speaking of low lives--I mean the misfits!
    So few are homeless!  Most don't care two bits!
    Most of those misfits are supreme and rich.
    Maybe one's mother, here and there, a bitch!
    And since a bitch can only mother dogs,
    Such are some rich folk--though some act like hogs.
    They take and take and take, yet never give.
    And they believe, Oh Lord, that's how to live!

    Lord, why the Homeless, in this land of wealth?
    Why all this heart-ache, pain, through wiles and stealth?
    Why can't the rich ones learn to love and share?
    Why so much sorrow, Oh Lord, everywhere?

    Why cannot people be bright bane for fools?
    Why can't they see ... uniform's best for schools?
    Why do they break, or bend, most humane rules?

    Why do they marry for a year ... or two?
    Like lost souls wandering wondering what to do?
    Why do they marry many, many times--
    Like birds of passage seeking hotter climes?

    What shock to learn some buzzards do migrate!
    Those eat their partners, find another mate.
    Some dazzle new mates with the things they brought!
    Some never give their young a second thought!
    Is that right, Lord?  Isn't such life for naught?

    There's so much that is wrong--allowed by laws.
    Those laws--the mindless, dumb--are just the cause.
    They're just the cause, yet more than just unjust!
    They baffle, they betray--abuse our trust.

    The soul that wrote this trembled as it wrote.
    That soul's so sad to see a people dote
    On crime and sin while our great world dies....
    Its eyes were dimmed with tears--its heart still cries.




                 02/28/1996 -- 02/29/1996

    Copyright (c) 1996 by Ronald G. Auguste