Off the Grid
There; in the waterfall,
I join many tears.
My tears pour from aching knees,
burdened with hearts of solid gold
preaching equality; from voiceless
leaders.
Panhandlers, clutching symphonies
in four lines, covet
corners that prey upon my
peace- just their day job.
Every check-out has a glass jar on
the counter; seeking tithes for
lost humanity, messages carried on wings
of doves; perched upon the waste
of capitalism.
Pushcarts; fleeing swarms of drones,
fear the key-stroke, a thousand
miles away.
While twitters and tweets stare from
vacant eyes, entombed in halls
of congress.
I smile too; red dawn is upon us,
and sunrise brings the tides
of truth
that will flood
every
shore
of
tyranny.
10/19/13
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2013
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