Feast Upon the Rich

Eat the rich, the top one percent,
Those who sit in thrones of gold,
Who play god without permission,
Deaf to the cries of the world.

They live in opulence, detached,
While the earth bleeds beneath them.
Congo’s veins run dry, Gaza mourns,
The wounds of Palestine, Sudan’s tears.

They weave their games in shadows,
Their laughter echoing over the graves.
Oblivious, uncaring, they think themselves divine,
Untouchable, their power a fortress.

But I, a whisper in the storm, vow this:
One day, I will rise from the ashes,
A tide of justice, relentless and true,
I will bring their citadels crashing down.

Eat the rich, their false divinity,
For I am the voice of the silenced,
The avenger of the broken,
And I will make them pay.

Their time will come, the reckoning near,
They will fall from their pedestals,
Their reign of cruelty ended,
By the hands of those they scorn.

One day, they will taste the hunger they ignored,
Feel the pain they inflicted.
Eat the rich, for their empire of greed
Will crumble, and justice will be served.