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Rated: E · Poetry · Political · #1899195
Venting my political frustration.
Two princes stand in a land that elects its kings; one left, one right.
Distinction without difference.

The choice only between a tyrant and slave-master.
The people choosing the lesser evil.

Moneylenders stand behind each prince; enthralling with silver and gold.
Greed: the true king.

One prince flatters the craftsman; the other the farmer.
Friend turns on friend.

Hands extended not to each other, but held out for coins.
No longer one nation, but two classes.

War and spectacles staged to frighten and distract.
Bankers watch with glee-filled eyes and open palms.

In the end the only change is to which prince we bow and tithe.
The elected king controlled through whispers in the dark.

The people make their choice; the only choice they are allowed.
Nothing changes, darkness still rules.

Seeking light they raise their voices and then their hands.
What begging could not do; deeds may accomplish.

A third choice is made with the power of numbers and the shouts of many.
The choice now is to make a stand with words and writing or with blood and steel.
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