They smile watching the little people
in sad parade of the rush hours calling
whilst they peer down in satisfaction
from towers dark and looming, made from grief
Those that reside aloft, live by that code
that one who rules, rules without law
they love to see you work your fingers to the bone
and when it all gets too much, see you, let out a groan
They will not hesitate to use the whip
trying to get what is left of your hollow lives
******* breath from you and bleeding you dry
foul and evil in there cogitation attitude
These are the wicked that sell and buy
land mines to maim, mothers to cry
these are the creatures that worship greed
they attain for want and not for need.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka Neonsolaris
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
They smile watching the little people
in sad parade of the rush hours calling
whilst they peer down in satisfaction
from towers dark and looming, made from grief
Those that reside aloft, live by that code
that one who rules, rules without law
they love to see you work your fingers to the bone
and when it all gets too much, see you, let out a groan
They will not hesitate to use the whip
trying to get what is left of your hollow lives
******* breath from you and bleeding you dry
foul and evil in there cogitation attitude
These are the wicked that sell and buy
land mines to maim, mothers to cry
these are the creatures that worship greed
they attain for want and not for need.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka Neonsolaris
Request permission to use this poem