The world is chaos. We are grains of sand.
Some end on top, but most just get buried.
We mute inglorious multitudes are banned
From the banquet, ghostly like Banquo, dead
To all except the families we feed,
The workmates we compete with for our crumbs,
The businesses that cajole, flatter, plead
For those crumbs afterwards. Oh look, here comes
The government, a ‘business’ doing its sums
With non-monarchical divine right hand,
Taxing citizens to death. Peasants, freed
From feudal yoke by welfare payments (bums!),
Must be corralled back into serfdom, and
Forced once again to sow the seeds of greed.
Mon 17 Mar 2008
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