Realism

figure of disguise
crapped the wholeness
of a universe parallel
wisdom at odds
sun scarred, I am
scathed with blood, all over
romanticism in favor
a pack of wolves tuned
a gaggle of ducks danced
prized pot of gold turned
gluttons in splendor
fleeting
while the conflicting race
endure the anguish, the dust
cloaking into air as sludge
as food, as breathe
verges through existence
the flow of sweat, dry
amidst the winter chill
the pain of toil exists still
while evolution
slower than human
but of hearts quick
stab.