The Vote

The anchor’s in their words.
You held tightly to the rope-
a lifebelt you had hoped, but no safe haven bespoke.
You, the masses, their scapegoat.

Throwing wicked
throwing lies,
They don’t care for your demise.
It’s the system, it’s their fame.
Your toil crowns their game.

The ones you smile and wave,
now aspersions on their names-
it’s the order,
take your number,
God is watching, but in vain.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s