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Beau Grey Apr 2016
The bombs already drop
in rhythmic succession,
brewing but little
Millions bleed the colour of soil -
impoverished by
rich mans toil.
But not a tear,
not a song is shed - unless,
they bleed the colour of
the dollar bill.
How cowardly it
is to hide behind the scenes
and play puppeteer,
while my children are starving
in the streets your Benz drives through.

How selfish it is
to ignore paying taxes,
while I scrape and search
for meaningless currency,
with auditors on my ***.

How luxurious
it must be to slumber in
silk and satin sheets,
while my unclad family
bunches together for warmth.

Oh, the nerve I have
to speak loudly against those
harboring every
cent, while there are thousands of
us without one to our names.
Wren Djinn Rain Aug 2015
Half white, half other
Mother of a soon to be
Born from an intent at backlash
Mother of a born to be
Plastic spoon in a microwave
Destitute, minimal,
designer criminal
Bun in the oven
Baby be coming
Out of any mind to choose
Mother of a soon to be
Potential property to bruise
Heidegger enlisted to the off-side
Probably due to the wave before
Baby lost to the in and out
of control, vessel of the past and preordained
Prescribed a will denying the innate
All joke, all alone
Began to end in a hot flash
Mother of a soon to be
Antonia Hot Flash
Jason Cole May 2015
I saw her standing in line fancying a magazine-
penniless as she was and buying food.
She had to use "the stamps", the mark of the poor.
She was as pretty a thing as I'd ever seen.
Her half-done hair and hand-me-down dress
were as beautiful as any model's straightway from Bloomingdale's.
Our eyes met, but I turned away...
My eyes unworthy to behold the gaze of the impoverished princess.

— The End —