On the Backs of Need
We see you clearly.
We know your names.
White hair, clean suits—
but a stained conscience.
You sit high on seats of power
while young girls stand on hunger,
on fear,
on dreams still unnamed.
You call it “help,”
but it is trade in pain.
You call it “love,”
but it is a trap for those with no choice.
Need is not consent.
Silence is not agreement.
A hand that takes from weakness
is not a hand—it is a chain.
You buy forced smiles,
you pay for futures in fragments,
then return home
without ever looking back.
But every tear
becomes testimony.
Every broken dream
becomes an accusation.
One day the voices will rise—
not with money,
but with truth.
And history will call your names
not “great men,”
but abusers.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
