Category: Darren Weeks
Published on Thursday, 02 January 2014 00:47
O Conquered Man
A poem by Darren Weeks
Do you dream, O conquered man?
Grit 'tween your teeth, brow full of sand?
For tokens labor with calloused hands
Sweat stings your eyes; blood soaks your land
Grind the stones for another man's greed
Dispel your pride, ignore your need
Damn your children and their seed
No hope they have of being freed
The fat grows more and more robust
In ivory towers with no rust
Filled with extravagance and lust
Owners of your savings trust
They'll don the finest apparel wear,
Drink the wine 'neath the chandelier
Scarce a worry, no occasion for fear
Never a thought to be austere
Your ledger grows with their excess
Gains can't be made, tho' try your best
Your sickly frame turns old and weary
Long days of stress, nights equally dreary
Then the drum beat sounds; the scrolls are unrolled
Names are called both young and old
Yesterday's friend is today's foe
Question not, what ye are told!
Send them to the slaying fields
The ground can drink the blood that spills
Tearing wounds that can never heal
Flags fly high as poor men kill
Years on end the crusade lasts
Bayonets prick; the muskets blast
Childless mothers sob and gasp
Bankers deal as bodies amass
In their deviant world afar,
Where stolen specie buys honor,
The champagne flows with caviar
Parties with celebrities and stars
Then comes one, studied and wise
Who shows the truth, exposes the lies
The reason why the pauper dies
Wars are for profit; the rich fund both sides!
Then it all comes to an abrupt end
The palace is surrounded by armed men
Battle weary, exhausted, and torn
But anger replaces the forlorn
Angry cries gather 'round
'Revolution' is the sound
Throw the chains of the wealthy down
Hang 'em high, way off the ground!
A shout, a burst of the cannon's rumble
Pillars of marble begin to crumble
Regime of oppression starts to tumble
Proud tyrants will be humbled
Have inner yearnings, O conquered man?
Hath ye no hope, aspiration or plan?
Will your children live as walking dead?
Or rise ye from your lethargic bed?
What will be the end of your story told?
Timid and weak? Or strong and bold?
Are ye child? Are ye man?
Will your spirit rise and take a stand?