Tone
It is the tone of the letter
That is initially off-putting.
Reading on,
Nothing changes.
It’s the same thing
As always…
Words intended
To hurt,
From someone already
In that state.
Reliving
They robbed him of
His trust, took away
His safety, denied
Him kindness, replaced
It all with harsh words
And threats of pain.
He likes to pretend
That everything’s okay
But he thinks and behaves
In ways that mirror
What he went through,
Perpetuating the cycle.
It’s not that he
Wants to be this way,
It’s that he believes he has
No other choice,
To interrupt it would mean
Reliving the horror.
Losing It All
He wasn’t always this way,
There was a time when he
Woke up with dreams of
Peace and love,
Vast horizons beckoning,
The joy of discovery,
Hope for a better world.
When the first windfall
Came his way, he pushed
Everything else aside,
The optimism, delight,
Crushed by the weight of
The fear of losing it all.
Pigeon
I’m walking down the street
And I see a pigeon, the
Same one that hangs out
Around here all the time.
I say hello and we start
Having the best conversation
Ever, about anything
And everything.
I like talking with him,
He’s the only one who
Actually listens to me.
Dystopia
It’s not so much
That it can’t happen
But rather that it
Is happening one
Small increment
At a time.
A right taken away
Here and there,
Presented as
Personal freedom,
Establishing servitude
And fealty.
The state as father,
Dictatorial minds
Subduing the masses,
A grim authoritarian
Dystopia regretted
After the fact.
Petulant
Imperious bluster,
Compulsion to dominate
Absolutely,
In all situations,
Under all conditions,
Unquestioned,
Unchallenged,
Under strict penalty.
All who dare trespass
Sanctified laws suffer
Disproportionate,
Unreasonable,
Consequences.
Guard the child residing
In the tower,
Unnurtured, unloved,
Petulant.
Unable
They’ve been called
Various things throughout
The eons, but their goals
Are always simple and
Surprisingly transparent.
Hoard everything they can,
Behave with extreme selfishness,
Resist change at every turn,
Denigrate the poor,
Exalt the rich.
Sulking cry babies,
Clutching greasy bottles,
Throwing unseemly tantrums
When they don’t
Get their way.
Unable to stop themselves,
They obliterate anyone and
Anything in their way.
Cold, callous, unfeeling;
Always the same story.
The Club
The same salesman in
A different suit,
Promising opportunity
For the many, delivering
Obscene wealth to the few,
Consolidating power
At the top.
Just another sleazy,
Unscrupulous con artist,
Out for what he and
His buddies can get
At the expense of
Saps who don’t
Belong to the club.
Paramount
He amasses a fortune
Larger than the
Gross domestic product
Of many nations.
This is where he’s
Always wanted to be,
A place where he
Reigns supreme.
All that matters is
House number nine,
Car number fifty-seven,
Continuous gluttonous consumption.
He works night and day,
The maintenance of
His preeminence
Paramount.
Never a thought given
To using his wealth to
Make a meaningful
Difference in the world.