Insane

Insane

The world in which we live

On a daily basis

Is not what we're being told

About whatever crisis

So I hand pull weeds

From my garden while thinking

To let it all go

While my plot grows

Yet, what I already know

Surrounds

Seeds of doubt

For the stinking lies

Buzzed by flies

While I'm drinking

Which gives me something

To shout about

In the screaming mix

Of bugs and calamity

That continually barrage

Toward insanity

Where we are celebrated

For our vanity

Of purpose