The Games - Poem by Zane Gilley
The blood gets curdled, paralyzed by stripe
With feelings delicately played and soothed
By televising horrors - mindless tripe
Enacted by the witless and untoothed.
The overstimulated rubes will gaze
At hyper-rainbowed clothing wonderful
And fancy others by some passing phrase
As mocking jays repeat other's whistle.
But still, the games give glory to defeat
Of oppressed men to serve the Capitol.
These slaves are fed their crumbs instead of meat
And dream of days where lives are free for all.
And if we waken not up from this sleep,
We'll find the hunger games and trouble deep.
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