As They Look On

They watch us feed upon each other
Father, Mother, Sister, Brother:
Standing in expensive suits;
Arrogant in fancy boots;
Watching fruits be modified;
With greasy palms, they’ve glorified.
And for what?, Is what I ask–
It’s all a very simple task:
To keep it simple, real and pure–
A modest win; a noble cure.
They make up lies for what they lack;
While hiding truths behind our back:
And still, they look at us and yawn;
While they stand and all look on.

They line their pants with threads of gold;
While selling out the young and old:
Taking what we’ve all paid in;
To ask what’s ours: ‘s considered sin.
They nod their heads as if to say,
The bees will buzz another day;
And Mother Earth will regain life,
Regardless of a careless life.
Malarkey trickles down in sheets:
While bridges fall across the streets;
Protected by their Holy Bubble,
While we perish into rubble.
And still, they look at us and yawn;
While they stand and all look on.

Their God knows how to pull the string:
While rabbits die, canaries sing.
The air is brown and breathing’s, toil;
While we frack to gain more oil.
Cars, they seem to multiply;
Birds fall dead, out from the sky;
Dolphins scream for waters clear:
They mount life’s heads for souvenirs.
Trigger fingers name their law;
To know they’re right, ‘s their tragic flaw;
They haven’t sight to see ahead;
And so they leave us like we’re dead.
And still, they look at us and yawn;
While they stand and all look on.

The Congress doesn’t promise much;
A bunch of words, like such and such:
Casting blame across the aisle;
With their greedy-empty smile;
They haven’t cares about our earth:
But women raped? They must give birth
To lands of an unequal scale
(And boy, they’d sure prefer a male);
One whom might just join their club
Ensuring there’ll be palms to rub–
Keeping women in their place
Birthing up their supreme race.
And still, they look at us and yawn;
While they stand and all look on.

Insurance?  They don’t give a hoot.
In misery?  Line up, they’ll shoot
You  for  the sense you share;
You won’t be right or else they’d care.
And if you know to mimic them:
Then their truth they won’t condemn.
Charlie McCarthy says it’s so:
And so their tea is free to flow
All over us like rotted milk;
Curdled by their soured ilk;
Who call themselves to represent,
New history of their own content.
And still, they look at us and yawn
While they stand and all look on

Stand up; we need to fire back.
They’ve not the strength, in fact they lack
The decency it takes to lead:
They’re liars, so don’t let them bleed
Atop the truths we hold so dear;
There is no change that we should fear.
They oppress us for they’re wannabees:
A scourge from Wall Street’s gilded seas;
Hold the presses!  Hold the phones!
We’re not dead yet:  can’t pick our bones!
Watch us rise and be again,
While you wallow in mud’s sin.
Go ahead; please, look and yawn,
We’re leaving you; for life’s new dawn.

Top photo: Bigstock

About Robin Clark (62 Articles)
Robin, born in Talent Oregon, now resides in Bellevue, a community outside of Seattle Washington. She is a published poet, OP-ED writer and Children's story author. She is currently in partnership with a composer who has asked her to write the book for his next musical. She is also being courted by assorted Directors to write a stage play and her dream is to leave a legacy in words, where you come to realize anything is possible.