Ghosts fix me smiling
in lists compiling
each shedding of whim
until my soul shouts
to wrangle false doubts
while watching the skim
in dollar and pound
with no one around
authorized by need
to resurrect life
by seizing the knife
from unholy greed.
The system won't fail
since cash pays to bail
the sickest of thieves
intent on scheming
while ads cure dreaming
until no one grieves
for all that got lost
while shifting the cost
away from this shore
to wake up one day
with all stripped away
as victims of war.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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