A Sheltered Hand

A clenched fist feels naught of off-kilter breezes;
A striking blow that appeases so many desires.
The rat shirks naught his duties
For he has none and his skin is not clean.
Maggots.
A blue haze separates, divides, malinforms.
Desecrates.

Hypocrisy burns in their veins
and
Misinformation crawls out their mouths.
They know naught of what they speak.
They see naught of reality.
They preach naught of intelligible truth.

What is destiny if you created it yourself?
What is history if no event exists for the claim?
Brazen and wallowing;
A sheltered hand that will never
Feel the seeing
Or see the feeling.