Numbers in Jars

A jar full of numbers, shaken and stirred

Is all that they are, all that they were

Captive and blinded, yet seldom disturbed

Ushered and gathered, forever interned

Tethered and tarnished, by toil they are bent

Hedged close together, like pigs in the pen

No, It’s not I, not me, and not them

They say to themselves, watching all others die

Yet helpless, deaf, and sightless they stand

Empty of heart, souls that should bleed

Unable to feel, void of goodness and dreams

Even laughter is suspect, false sighs of their whores

They placidly walk through each dawning day

Each of them sleeping with each others pay

Lost and confused, to the ladder they charge

Selfish and hard, cold to the core

Kissing like fishes, cold slimy and bored

Friendships are ploys, like sex to the boys

Great corporate evils, like black presidents

Sneak in dark shadow, falsehood and lies

All of them Godless, for he lives in their sides

They choose who he is and just what he’ll despise

They bow to themselves, no greater they see

No truth do they know but that which they seed

Complacent and lazy, just serving themselves

No thoughts of others but gain, gold and wealth

Use bodies as tools to barter and trade

Lips, breasts and eyes but expendable toys

Love is a word, a thing done in bed

In the back of a car, behind the old shed

With bodies they trade, the price for a spread

Hateful and shallow, blinded by greed

Chained by their lustful, demons unseen

This jar full of numbers, ripe for a fall

Full of mute numbers, each of them odd

Too brainless to witness, too bitter for all

Led right to the slaughter, by corporate head sleaze

Not found in the handbook of company needs

Where nothing they find, but hate and disease

Kindness, love, truth…justice and right

All poor corporate bylines, beyond their own sight

Just a jar full of numbers in the hand of headcheese

Soon smashed to the ground or drowned with such ease

As evils loves not, but with itself is it smitten

© 2011, Tim Wilkinson & Wayne Wilks