Cynics future

Why don't we make things that work?

Why? Those who make the things I'm Sure

Intend for them to function

Yet what we seem to have are poor substitutes

For realised solutions

Freedom to participate, democratising markets

Democratic-ish as only those with means can e a part of it

dream to share ones home, ones car, ones special skills

Dies on a hill of gold and paper

Not to individuals but coordinated shills

Yet to the victor go the spoils, and the rest responsibility

Those who use the least resources with the greatest dependencies

Use less, spend less, save the planet, donate

Housing, holidays and heritance

Use more spend more, the world will simply rotate

At least I Ican afford bread

I ponder in my nightly dread

But though I do not aim to bludge, I really try my best,

I know I'll never own a home

Debt and strain adorn my name, no future for my crest.