More Important Than You

the important ones
only living for 'me and my mine'
become shriveled up inside
indignant with vanity, piteous and dread

they well bullied victims
to each one's own selfish fears
comprising a barren morass
of inadequate hopes

compositions of glib
each and together
human compendia
of love's cruelest jokes

mere by day, stark caricatures
drawn by the lies they live

but when found out after dark
like hopeless phantoms blowing lost about the night
full of insipid feelings and deadweight concern
that have no time for Love

always blithely scurrying about
to hide in the blindest light
they clearly don't care to know what's happening
and unlike the flowers, they are most definitely, not, quite, right