iron hands squeeze begging hearts
then leave them

lifeless

limp. . .

promise replac'd the blood of fervent dreams
with early retirement buyouts
since the good job wages
just can't cut it any more

overwork'd and underpaid,
broken down shambles of
so called families strain at the nerves,

feeling overtaken, their brain power rust'd shut
their flesh giving way to robotic empires
that care nothing of simple beauty, nor
things of nature created by God
that we all deserve to see. . .

but there is no time for relaxation. . .
no purpose for anything but depressiont
forgetting how to smile in the going fashion

so what if the body needs its rest
so what family needs connections

the iron fist does not care
if civilization can not blossom 
in a land where water flows backward 
but who among us is going to find the faucet
that leads to refreshing the stricken
who are maim'd by capitalist sin?

  © 2006, cynth’ya lewis reed
All rights reserv’d