Social Global Warming

Some things are better left unsaid.
When winds of change blow down your door,
Rampage through your soft, humble home,
And shove the remnants of manic depressive seeds
Into your sheltered ears,
The time to listen to wolves,
Howling out their bluesy, forsworn woes, has come.

The deafening, impeding silence of life,
Should bear it's urban inflated head.
'Cause raging stampedes of semi-detective psychiatrists,
Will surely bring on a whirling,
Swirling,
Twirling tornado of classical ballet.
The swift, light hearted dancers of uninterrupted and forceful change could
Turn our circle of life into a chalk outline of a fragile, blue eyed, Mary Sue doll.

Should we scowl in the face of social deformities,
Like show monsters in tortured circuses for the sickly entertained?
I tell you, social global warming is a threat to us all.
In the busy streets where people perish, reborn in hate,
Some things are better left unsaid.