HERE’S TO THE LITTLE PEOPLE

Here’s to the little people
That means you and I.
We create the economy
With the things we buy.
The rich people object;
They say they are the best
By squeezing the lifeblood
Out of all of the rest.

What the rich don’t take directly
They steal by increasing the tax.
Only when we are powerless
Do they really feel they can relax.
And it only serves to help them
If they pass laws that are hazy
In which they can hide graft
Because we are politically lazy.

Yes, here’s to the little people
That is you and that is me.
We’re passing up our chances
And all our hopes for prosperity.
We’ve let the rich people rob us
In congress by nickels and dimes.
While it might not be too late now,
We are just about out of time.

Brent Kincaid
3/18/2015

I won the lottery last week. I played the mega millions with a jackpot of 60 million hoping 5 numbers could determine the rest of my life.

Where I live, a man won the lottery only 12 miles from me with a jackpot of 127 million dollars.

I try to fathom how that would feel. How I could take everyone I care about and give them anything they ever wanted.

People are talking about it days after and every time it is mentioned, its like glass shattering in my ears. How could someone be so lucky?

He will probably eat the best food and buy the nicest things. But thats all they will be is "things". The money will slowly push family and friends away.

He will no longer have to work, he will no longer have time for people that were there before. Because the money is all thats there.

Maybe I envy him. Or maybe i'm sorry for him. I'm not sure.

I won the lottery last week. I thought of all the things I could do and places I could go.

A 2 dollar winning lottery ticket made me realize that I won. We are all rich! In our own minds.

Our struggle is what makes our character. Our stories is the poetry of life. We win the lottery everyday, most of us just don't know how to spend it.

The poor get poorer,
The rich get richer.
           In some cases it’s a debate
             harsh situations Fluctuate
When money speaks, power escalates.

Sometimes…
The poor gets tougher,
The rich gets fragile against danger.

Often times…
Harsh situations make us stronger,
Easy life makes us weaker.

You seek a crown of gold
And yet the heart is fallow
A famine of the soul
Unbeknownst and unconcerned
The poor hunger for food and shelter
And you have an appetite that’s never satiated
The many feasts of endless delicacies and wealth
Has not spoiled your cravings
Yet they who are lacking in all that is tangible to you
Have something you lack and cannot acquire
They give to others that have less than them
And feel their anguish
And revel in their friendship
Their crown is empathy

It's all part of a bigger problem, namely the dollar sign
Our wealth we're given is merely determined by our blood line

The rich sit mighty high in the sky and dine
While the lessers scour for nickels and dimes

They spend all day wondering which car to drive
While we wonder if we have enough food to survive

They crack wise about their expensive wine
While we sit and buff our dishes that can't shine

We all dream of conquering the wall too steep to climb
while the affluent boot steps on those not of their kin

To clean the grime of the needy takes more time
They think an innocent gesture amounts to a crime

They're convinced we brought this on ourselves
and give more to themselves to stack on tall shelves

Unfortunately the wealthy control the people's power
Our greatest empires built by the common man's hours

Yet they are treasured the simple man's eye
The glitz and glamour are merely an illusion, an ally.

No matter how many thick gold bricks,
I am not falling for their dubious tricks

I wish to rid our society from the shackles of the dollar
But the commas add up and debt restrains like a collar

Until we can all break free from corporate's tight chain
They'll stay to drain the remains from our withered veins

You walk on the stones
When you can feed your son
You're never refused
When the water you drink
Is from the cup you choose

You lay under their feet
When water dries in the sun
You're always refused
When a poor man lives hard
And his son can never choose

What can I say?
What can I say?
They suffer while I play
They suffer while I play
There/s nothing for me to say
There's nothing for me to say
My life has always been that way
My life has always been that way

You walk on the stones
When you know who loves you
It's you they choose
You lay under their feet
When you know they forgot you
It's you they refuse

What can they say?
What can they say?
They suffer while I play
They suffer while I play
There's nothing for them to say
There's nothing for them to say
Their life has always been that way
Their life has always been that way

What can anybody say?
What can anybody say?
What can anybody say?

If my dreams were made of ice and I had just one wish,
Someone at the top has already set the cities fire to full blast,
Turning everything I hoped for to a puddle, melting it.

What's the point in this life when everything you want
Depends on if they will open the door for you? It seems
To me we are only doing what the rich all would want us to!

Though this sounds like a stupid rant, but notice if you will,
How much it costs for cops to go to a house simply
Because of a stupid argument, REAL justice unfulfilled.

It's happened before and it will happen again, these tools,
They who make all of my dreams disappear with a snap,
The one who has the least integrity is often the one who rules...

The faux heart on your sleeve
Goes incredibly well
With your arrogant grin
And hands full of hubris.

I find it distasteful
That you spit your highbrow
From a tongue drenched in chagrin
And lips lacking complacence.

It seems she denied to the end
the source of the cataracts on her eyes
the cracked and suppurating skin of her finger-ends
till she could no longer hold a test-tube or a pencil
She died a famous woman denying
her wounds
denying
her wounds came from the same source as her power