'' You Cannot Cure This Cancer '' Poem by Bri Mar

The all-seeing eye,
A symbol of venality,
Though this they'll deny,
It does lack morality.

They live off the poor,
In opulence and splendour,
Their morals are obscure,
Of hypocrisy, the vendor.

They dictate how you'll live,
You do not have a say,
They take never give,
Upset them you'll pay.

They believe they're select,
Our money they accrue,
Even wrong they're correct,
This sick chosen few.

Though a minority group,
Our lives they control,
To Hell they will stoop,
To keep bank accounts whole.

They present as polished,
Inside they are rotten,
Slavery wasn't abolished,
Their gains are ill-gotten.

If we the people don't ask,
They will not give an answer,
Unless taken to task,

‘' You Cannot Cure A Cancer ‘'