Digging Our Own Grave Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

Money talks, in halls so grand,
A handshake seals, a whispered plan.
Not for the many, toiling slow,
But pockets deep, where riches grow.

The suits arrive, they smile so bright,
From gilded halls, bathed in soft light.
They talk of growth, of markets free,
But only help their own decree.

Their friends grow rich, their coffers swell,
While common dreams begin to quell.
A whisper starts, a doubt takes seed,
But trust is strong, a planted creed.

Years crawl by, a slow, hard grind,
The promise fades, left far behind.
The eyes now open, see the lie,
That bought and paid for, reached so high.

The average soul, they barely see,
Except for votes, we gave for free.
Years pass, the promise rings untrue,
The gilded cage, for me and you.

We gave the trust, we sang their praise,
Through empty words, and hazy days.
The hole gets deeper, day by day,
A pit we dug, along the way.

It's slow to learn, this bitter truth,
A wasted life, a stolen youth.
Our own mistake, the price we pay,
For letting wolves, now lead the way.