Cries for help
Are muffled by the hands
Of those that
Sit on the titling and vulnerable axis of the earth.
And they only
Arms outstretched in selfish ambition,
To collect the shiny, useless things they crave and devour.
Take what’s yours to take.
The people will suffer but,
If you were to spend a day, week–
God forbid! A month…
In their bottomless, worn out shoes,
You would crumble.
Because you are made of straw.
The dirt of this earth, the essence of essential and the basis of our foundation,
Stack them all real high,
Apply some pressure,
And you get steel and brick,
Strong enough to weigh down that paper house of yours.
Shut them up,
But listen closely
To the chains snapping and falling, quite surely,
To the ground.
In spite of it all; watch them fall.