The Silent Commodities Born Poor

 

     The treasure chest is full,

And many a full treasure chest are there

Secretly concealed in caves,  in safes,

In Nuclear Bunkers,

     In the avarice mind of our Gaoler.

 

     Now the cull,

Now the greed is there for a good

While – there be no need for

The silent commodities born poor,

A wealth of their intellect and heart -

     Soul and Spirit are now

Gathered for the interest of far off Worlds;

     And so The cull, proceeds.

 

     The silent commodities,

Profiled early on and nurtured for

The dire way we live, so

Expressing woe, hurt, sorrow

For the inter-galactic whom have

Lost feeling, lost charm and

Their own pronunciation; don’t understand

our 'fake' reference to Injustice,

     Don’t understand how

Intelligent rulers have them live

Despairingly and at war.

 

     But those that know,

Understand ‘there is no thing as rough justice,

For it is but a slight of ingredient to reap

The ruling – rich  rewards to bargain.’

 

     Like fine wine,

The contents are consumed

Periodically, and then an empty

Bottle cleansed and sterilized for fresh

Red, fresh white, fresh memory of suffering

To be in time, ‘fermented and poured again.’

 

     The vaults are full – the cull begins,

But those that know, saw the hospitals

Already geared for mass casualties – ten

Years before but wards so vast were empty then,

     Unlike the shelves of shops with finery

Of bric – a – brac, for sale after the population has

Been slashed – to the few left - well to do –

     Who feel it just that ‘they alone remain.’

 

     The silent commodities born poor

Are my fullness behind the eyes insane -

That cannot dispense the tears – fast enough

To relieve my heart of pain,

     And I can scream for all my life,

Scream for all my life to stop this,

 

     Stop this before the universe implodes

Upon this disgrace, for all ‘we’ silent

Commodities are ‘only’ life – never given choice,

And following the purposes of fake –

     While our death of spirit persists we live

A constant heart-ache.

 

     It never ends.

 

     I wanted a family - so seed

And hope and love was given,

     Then before the age of ten

My own offspring, again –

‘Silent Commodities Born Poor,’

     Beset by Assault;

Ingredients still now introduced

To further the stash within the hidden Vaults,

     And I can no longer look at life

Within the eye as all that is apparent,

Is a clever deception called society – a lie,

     ‘So let me die,

          Let me die o lord,–

               Let me die.’

 

 

Michael J Waite 20th March 2020