Things will be okay, I hear everyone say,
But though the prices are rising, my wages are not;
Even the mice that stayed here have run away,
For a loaf of bread is all the food I’ve got.
I was told in a dream, just this afternoon,
That I need not worry about dying anytime soon,
For Heaven is overbooked, there isn’t a single available berth,
And Hell has been reserved for the policy-makers on Earth.
My wife is weeping, the floor needs sweeping,
But the broom was sold last week for a bowl of rice,
And all my possessions are in the landlord’s keeping,
For everything, even memories, can be sold for a price.
But these bad times will pass, they say,
And Frankenstein’s monster will go away;
But I fear that Dracula will take his place,
And Mr. Hyde will show his face.
I’m used to this, I’m alright, I’m okay,
But I wonder if the greedy and corrupt know,
That by exploiting others in this way,
It is the seeds of their own destruction that they sow.
Because, for every silver platter that may shine,
In the palaces of gold where the rich do dine;
It is the poor, who with their hands of grime,
Have wiped away the mud and slime.
– Written in 2011
Dancing Tides 