Alas

Should I smile? Should I whine?

At soft maladies or brutal signs

Pieces of intention scattered around

Slant remarks of dirty grime.

 

Questions strike the young

Beautiful and sometimes bold.

Fingers pointed by the crowds

Only demean them more.

 

Deceit becomes ubiquitous

While beauty remains puny.

Alas this cowardly world

Afraid to be on terms of its own/