Story Inspired By The Music Of John Mellencamp
Trying to fall asleep last night I must have written at least ten poems and several stories in my head. So I thought it just be best to write something down so I could at least fall asleep. Justice seems to be a long set of rules, that for the few don’t mean a damn thing. The house seems to be especially rigged when your poor and working class. Living your lives dependent on the charity of others. That set the minimum wage for your sweat and pain just doesn’t seem fair. But what can you do when everyone else accepts it, like pigs fighting for a place at the trough or cattle blindly walking into the slaughterhouse.
We all think it’s fair, till it’s our ideas that are taken away. Used and violated like some unfortunate girl by the flash and desires of the privileged. Only to be left tormented and abused, then discarded like so much garbage. So what is fair? In a life where your left stacked like cord wood to be thrown into the fire. To warm another man’s bones. I’ve lived so passively taking the crumbs I was given. Rather it was love, attention, or wealth. But many will say, “But did you work hard enough?” All while they’re being waited on with a silver cup.
Who knows what it is I’m trying to say. When all I see are our leaders and elites sipping fine wine, while children are buried with bulldozers and shot down by drones. What makes their lives more important than ours? Religious fervor perverted over a millennia ago? I may not have a gun, but my leaders sure do. Bought with the money I made. Maybe I’m just rambling like an idiot that needs to be silenced. So load your guns you selfish few. Cause I’m more than certain there are more lined up behind me, that don’t think things are all that fair.
We all think it’s fair, till it’s our ideas that are taken away. Used and violated like some unfortunate girl by the flash and desires of the privileged. Only to be left tormented and abused, then discarded like so much garbage. So what is fair? In a life where your left stacked like cord wood to be thrown into the fire. To warm another man’s bones. I’ve lived so passively taking the crumbs I was given. Rather it was love, attention, or wealth. But many will say, “But did you work hard enough?” All while they’re being waited on with a silver cup.
Who knows what it is I’m trying to say. When all I see are our leaders and elites sipping fine wine, while children are buried with bulldozers and shot down by drones. What makes their lives more important than ours? Religious fervor perverted over a millennia ago? I may not have a gun, but my leaders sure do. Bought with the money I made. Maybe I’m just rambling like an idiot that needs to be silenced. So load your guns you selfish few. Cause I’m more than certain there are more lined up behind me, that don’t think things are all that fair.
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