Muddled in a shade of brown

The shadows are dark while the light is dim and the levy of the world lays shouldered,
Where the lives of mundane seem to dissolve into the aura as the night gets colder.
I look around and all I see is the mess and a floor that needs cleaning,
Yet shake not another tree of thought, for the leaves share not their meaning.
Pausing a moment and taking a breath, I look onto the other side of the couch,
There lay a gospel of my lifes worth, and as I reach I slouch.
The effort can tell a thousand tales of how much it was to be borne,
Yet moved not a single hair on my soul as I stood there sitting on the throne.
Now I stride to the screen that lights, itself in primrose red,
While I stare at the daunting words, I see the words being said.
I tell myself a tale of time, where I see Sigmond fair and good,
Lying still in naked stance as I complete it as it should.
"To the poor who do not see,
The life of the rich, their reality.
May I indulge in this foreign cause,
To solve some if not all."

Development Underdevelopment and poverty, the corporate structure of success