Bullion stacked against a window sill
piled high enough to watch the street parade
from behind bullet  proof glass panels
wives and children safely ensconced
in upper rooms closer
to the helipad on standby.

He watched the streets burn
Moloch madness known
ego blown and ballooned
on taming the nightskys own fireworks
with the stars in attendance.
with God as his butler.

The man on the street did not think so.
The bills mounted high
and his power was cut for the presidents party.

with a loaf of bread to feed six children
he lost his soul to the furnace in his brain
molotov cocktail in hand
he marched down the alleyway
to the highway of the presidential palace
to set fire to his anger
on the parapets of broken promises
to lay waste to the promised kingdom
to break bread with his brethren
until his message was written
on the politicians plate of plenty.

The helicopter rose
straight into the molotov smash
and the fireball consumed the palace.
The rising ashes replaced the starlights
in the sky and the gold bullion melted back into the earth.

Author Notes
The Revolution has just finished in one place. It will start again in some other.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.