Of artisans and leeches

the whole of society is falling to ruin
just today I sat and ate my lunch in quiet
reading prose of a misunderstood author
while the toad next to me ranted
and raved about nothing at all
this belching brute gave the woman he accompanied
a hearty fright and a dose of embarrassment
to be seen with such an immature fool

these crude and worthless beings are what I'm discussing
they crawl through the world on their knees
waiting to be spanked by their mother or (better yet)
a complete stranger
to tell them just what is wrong about themselves
their attitudes and their overall view of everything in general
They stroll leisurely through life caring
not to create something beautiful or fascinating
never bothering to use their creative souls given to them
at birth, they are content to drink their bellies full
of wine and fill their lungs with smoke enough
to rot the brain
These belching buffoons need less to survive
than the common housecat, yet they bitch and complain like one

I speak not of the artist
the poet
the musician
or actor
for these are those that truly understand what life brings
to creation, truly grasp why creation is the meaning of life
To them, the world is but one canvas
and they make it dazzle the rest of the bloodshot,
gin-glazed eyes of these wastes

They should thank us (though they never will)
for the beauty we bring their pathetic lives