Book-Eating Leaves

It’s all for grabs, 
we’re all in traps, 
the uncivilized are 
book-eating leaves
who quaff as beasts
in a treasure hunt.

Leaves, hollow lies,
hear their shrieks,
leaves creep me out, 
might creep out on 
you. If you think 
they won’t steal what's
left of kindness when 
most needed, shivering, 
foolishly, they will.

Innocence too blind,
too fluffy, is idiocy.  
 
Arrogance kills 
intelligence, yet
they think smart,
only shortsighted
they can’t think 
bright. If all is 
up for grabs, when
will we get back
what suspiciously 
they bloated sell?

Leaves leave dirty 
streets, blame winds
and people who shout:
No to treasure hunt! 

Careless, they grab
even more as if no 
one cared, vengeance  
for their troubles,
you must know that 
it’s quite an effort 
to steal     “law”
              the        fully,

power grabbing leaves:
our fate is bloody,
not because you’ll die
but because you kill
and don’t care who dies. 

Eventually, we’ll fix 
your bloody mess. Too
late! Perhaps. We’ll try
to foil more untimely 
deaths, but remember 
petty minded leaves: 

Whatever money lets you 
hold, whatever memories 
dear you hold, means zero 
if you don’t understand 
what honor and devotion
do to heal dissatisfaction.