The Green Ballot Box

Election time begins as the clock strikes twelve

Walking tailored suits and ruby dresses start to delve

Into the polls, where the green ballot box awaits

Diamond rings and manicured nails drop in bills to sate

The politician-shaped money bags ready to devour

The meat clean off the bone of democracy, stripped of its power


Lights shut off, polls closing as the clock strikes eight

Huddling tattered rags lie outside, subject to golden fate

The green ballot box, locked to them by rusting chains

Left alone with the stars, from hope they refrain

To receive any change, they must mint their voice

But stripped of green and stripped of choice


Little do they know, the kings silently grow in debt

Billed for despair and tragedy with the price yet to be set




  • Poetic Dan

    As always you writing are phenomenal, this flowed and inspirational

    Thank you my friend
    Always appreciated

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.