So I found my old blog...... so to start I thought I'd quickly re work an old piece all ready on here before I begin to restart blogging/writing. So here it is,
Wolves
There are wolves at the end of my street.
They pray for the old, and they pray for the weak.
They say they are helping, and aid those in need.
Yet it's them who benefit from every good deed.
If they are good it's not for goodness sake.
It's to gain a place beyond their heaven's gate.
People are preached to and taught, their so called truths.
But these are stories told by those with fervent views.
When people go in they are never the same,
You're helped into the pack or left out in the rain.
They treat us with contempt and with suspicion,
Because we don't believe in their superstition.
Their minds are closed to reason and fact,
For with imagined Gods they've made their pact.
There are wolves at the end of my street.
They prey on the old and prey on the weak.
