Feel the percussive rumble on horizon,
as earth once felt the beat of stampeding bison.
The one percent are playing a zero sum game,
they hoard stolen riches, live in pursuit of fame,
connive to warp our point of view and change the vote,
keep your best interests the care that’s most remote.
Farmers seed the sowing of their fields asunder.
Fools worship wealthy thieves and support their plunder.
There is no excuse left, that you can offer me,
as you stake claim to this deranged reality.
When all is said and done, I know they sold you lies.
Years I’ve seen the problem grow, right before my eyes.
But you have convinced me, and so will others find,
injustice is your nature, to your core unkind.
You can’t clearly see the field, so call it fallow,
trade your soul to the devil for something shallow.
Not all who conquer are worthy their following,
take care the bitter poison you are swallowing.
Lest you find you’ve become the monster that you fear,
try to disavow the ruin as it draws near.
I know it’s not a righteous path on which you tread,
many have the truths and warnings been, fair the dread.
So, it will come down to all of us left knowing,
we must excise you, the cancer we’ve been growing.
Olivia Hillaire, writer 
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