Stocks rise
On the backs of weak and downtrodden people
Lives end
As a new business venture begins
All the while
We are told:
“They love us/hate us for our freedoms! We are the best!”
The best?
You jest!!
We are ruled by sick men
Who cut down trees so none can sit in their shade but them.
Who send our children to kill and die
For their own profit
The land is sick,
The air chokes
And the oceans are full of garbage…
Oh, but profits are rising!!
“Can we get some of that profit?” We ask the sick men.
Their answer:
“Get fucked”
They built their empire
With our bodies
On our bones—
Our graves!
We must end this empire
Before it ends us!!
Studio CreatiV: The Writings, poetry and musing of an Angry Man 