Raking Through the Screed

Vain winds blow on through the pain a waking nightmare for moral gain The silent pulled from pillar to post, but surely endurance holds the key? Shallow badges squeeze my plight Preening tourists line the sides Damp in the ceiling mould spored and grey Raking through the screed Empty acts of false modesty Do nothing but tease and trivialise The disarming touch of bourgeois pity Indulgent trumpet blowers But I will drag the darkest into my everyday to press for space beyond their means Raking through the screed