A 3 point turn heading opposite ruins
the direction first taken. Manipulative maniac!
Remove the spark and power from your connections
and you slip into thick darkness
without props, from where you first came to the light
collecting heads dangling on a political belt
blood gushing to your temples with the excitement
of ladders built with opponents ribs
and maidens in your harem dancing to a dirge
of stolen energy from ball-less bastards
who catered to your swords sharp language.
palpitating fear of adding their own heads,
to your prized totem collection
on rancid streets. Amen Amin.
The power cut plunged the dark continent
into an abyss of bottomless economy
where the price of bread surpassed
the goldmines and oil dynasties
into deltas of doom.
Even now the sword and sceptre
intertwine to carve society into slabs
of lean meat in the markets of the madness.
Rise people rise! You do not carry
shepherds hooks blessed with a question mark? do you?
Quietly sharpen those question marks into spears
of liberty. Start now.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
The Revolution continues. Where are we?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Comments about this poem (Power Plug by Marshall Gass )
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