THE THIEVES
What is stolen
never endures.
Empires built on plunder
rot quietly.
America.
And its allies.
You crossed oceans
to empty the poor.
You called it trade.
You called it order.
Paper became power.
Ink became chains.
A currency without conscience
sold as destiny.
You ruled by bullying.
By fear dressed as leadership.
And wondered why
the world grew tired.
Nothing is too vast
to fall.
Nothing too small
to rise.
You proved one truth:
the world breathes easier
without thieves at the throne.
The universe keeps accounts.
It tolerates patience,
not cruelty.
And when leaders gamble with greed,
the innocent pay first.
But this is no longer
the seventeenth century.
The Global South
is awake.
They studied your methods.
They memorized your games.
What was taken
will return—
not in revenge,
but in reckoning.
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.
