Poetry challenge: Monoryhme.
Must we all be liars, shivering, afraid
In the beds we made?
The pasts we trade?
The present a pleasant, coffee-hit parade;
While constantly we fail to make the grade;
Desperately praying that alcohol and lemonade,
A hastily-applied temporary Band-Aid;
Passing, on and on, a homemade
Loathing-and-fear hand grenade
Will sufficiently damage the Tomorrow Barricade?