How could I ask a man to die upholding the morals of a society that has wholly failed him?
How could I ask him to take up arms to defend a land to which he is treated a stranger,
even though he knows its soil more intimately than those who claim to own it?
How could I pluck the fruits of the earth from his hands to add to my garden, when his are scarred with toil and bent by broken limb?
I know not the price of nothing, save the shrivelled skin and broken teeth of wanting.
But I rage all the same —
I rage at a world designed to crush the already crushed;
I rage at a world that seizes the air from the lungs of the gasping;
I rage at quiet, forgotten death beneath the blanket of city light;
and I rage at my own thriving,
while others writhe in the cage of our designing.
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Author:
Ameliorated Aesthetic (
Offline) - Published: November 13th, 2025 03:23
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
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Comments1
A poem that presents well the building of comfort on the agony of others. In a world where there are too many in need and an economy run on greed where does one draw the line in taking from those that have and giving to those that don't? Taking is not the answer giving is the answer and that will not happen until hearts change. A fave
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