Francis Meyrick

It’s all they’ve got

It’s all they’ve got. Some binary digits in a bank computer mainframe. A stack of an inert metal. Illusions of grandeur. Vaulting pride. Inbred cruelty, selfishness, and myopia.

They have no soul, no vision, no heart, no feeling.
They have no poetry.
They have no quiet dreams.
They cannot soar.

Only scrabble, despairingly, in the caked blood and dirt, for yet another miserable shekel, extorted, milked, bilked, from the ever struggling, working man.

Their God, being self?
Is a small, unenviable, ugly, vicious beastie.