What is this world,
what is this place,
where is the hope?
Nowhere near any human being,
except only hopeful greed in the leadership,
now why are there still dictators,
on this Earth,
and why does world let them for so long continue to terrorise their people in so many ways?
Who knows, but there is logic to psychopaths,
who are eternally crazed.
And here,
in the cold,
in the cold in the city of fear,
in the cold in a place with no cheer,
yes, only cold,
cold that never disappears,
cold and fear in a place where everywhere there are only prying eyes,
and anxiety,
and despair and fear,
in the streets,
and in the houses,
where there is no trust between families and friends,
and only overwhelming gloom,
as people cheer in fear,
as a despot leers,
and stares at the people with smiles,
and with mass murdering intent behind his psychotic eyes,
a mass murdering killer,
a lunatic,
a psychopath who likes to torture, and brutalise,
and execute any one who his command they deny, or who displeases him,
as the dictator dines out on the hard work of his countrymen,
yes, a thinning lot with not enough to eat,
as the despot grows fat and daily in size,
and as the people live with never ending fear in their eyes,
and they cry,
cry and die,
cry and die,
and die in the most horrific ways,
in the city of fear,
a place with no cheer,
where every footstep,
and every movement is watched,
and no moment goes unheard,
in a machivellian world,
where for only blood and slaughter and greed does the leader give a damn,
and psychotic and neurotic is life in the city of fear,
that leads people into early graves,
and into hell to be eternally damned,
yes, cold,
as cold as the bullets who are used execute the oppressed unendingly,
cold callous killers who spare no expense at all,
happy to slaughter everyone,
men, women, boys and girls,
whose lives are not lived to the full,
and who are dead mostly before they are truly old,
whilst in the city of fear,
the guns, are forever on guard,
in a country so sick and ill and traumatised,
where guns and trigger happy soldiers,
frighten the families of the dead into complying with more sycophantic worship than they had ever planned,
and as they do they sweat like pigs just to please and put a smile on the face of a sick mass murdering evil man,
oh, it so cold,
cold in the city of fear,
cold in a place with no cheer,
a place with death never far away,
from each girl, boy,
woman and man,
in a city,
a terrible city,
where cruelty and death,
death it seems to be the only plan,
as the world continues on,
without seemingly rarely giving a damn.

Thank you for reading my poem Cold, more poetry and writing by me is available on this website.

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