Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Hell Bound!

They were here, right
beyond those septic walls.

Chained to hunger and
to the bloated greed
of 'em dream raiders.
Hunters, with cellular whips,
and silver pieces wrapped
in contract right from hell,
written by the darkest one.
Oh... They were here.

Our conscience slimed from
the blood-stained modernist stokes
as the "slaves" knelt down to
pick a morsel from the
sweat drenched sand grains
of this "free" land - their mother land.

Yeah, the democratic irony;
they were here, right here.

(Slavery, bonded labour, it seems we are still in the middle ages...)

3 comments:

Zardy said...

'...in contract right from hell,
written by the darkest one."
Good metaphors! I like this poem!

Thought-Les said...

it was a poem on a subject i was very moved. a friend of mine closely works for freeing the exploited from their plight...
thanks pal

Jasmine Nelson said...

Our conscience slimed from
the blood-stained modernist stokes
as the "slaves" knelt down to
pick a morsel from the
sweat drenched sand grains
of this "free" land - their mother land.

painful.....good one leslie....


" All honor to him who shall win the prize/'
The world has cried for a thousand years;

But to him who tries and who fails and dies,
I give great honor and glory and tears.

great is the hero who wins a name,

But greater many and many a time
Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame,

And lets God finish the thought sublime.