Dirty Kettle, Black Pot

Dirty Pot, Black Kettle             

Shhhh.
I can hear you thinking.
Hush. I can see you.

Honestly, who are you?

The stars are hidden by cloudy eyes,
the moon is leaving and the ocean is in turmoil,
waves swaying to and fro, with an intensity,
of a woman scorned.
White foam slapping the cliffs and beaches.
Rioting.
Rebelling.
Humanity is bickering about the lies we've built ourselves to be.
Squabbling like children over a toy,
we argue about how life should be run.
This country is a play house, where only 'special' people can join
If I have enough money does that make me special?

Happy, shiny politicians
smiling wide with money bags behind their backs.
As fat greedy men,
with the beady eyes of beasts
rub elbows with corruption.

Greed.

We were once a melting pot.
A mix of people running from our troubles.
As years passed this colourful,
ever increasing and decreasing,
pot of ideals
has become stagnate.
The scummy substance that was once a pleasant swirl
of diversity, hardens.
While the fat,
and the grease rise up to the top,
smothering what used to be.

Who are we? -
To judge those who come to leave their terrible situations?

One last time now,
Who are you?