Chains Across The Ground Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Bloated tables littered
with avarice, greed and worse.
We're dying here, you know.
Locked down in this
unrealistic point of view.
Reaching up,
we are slapped down.
Reaching down,
we are pulled up
so we can
begin
the
stone weight again.
Gasping to speak
but
afraid
to say
what we cluster
in our hearts.
Deny the truth.
Play black chess pieces
willingly against the white.
Win or not, we
always lose.
Plopped like pimples
into
secondary
roles.

Hush.
I think I hear something.
Oh yes, I know that sound.

It is the dragging of chains
across
the
ground.