The musty scent of testosterone

hangs stale in every corner of civilization.

Feminine intuition drenched.

Oestrogen driven saviours

down trodden, weakened,

by the muscular sinews of masculinity.

Their strength visible

in the eyes of every living creature,

except man.

Whose continual struggle

with his own ego,

will reduce life to a pile of rubble.

Worthless to everyone

but the puppeteers,

whose pockets we mindlessly line.

Loose change

thrown absentmindedly,

into the outstretched hand

of a begging nation.

He averts his eyes,

in contemptuous judgement

of the playmate of his youth.

Grace tugs at the veil,

continually conspiring.

Her soft scented hand attempting,

to remove the heavy scent

of the dictatorship of man.