age old livelihoods
by the fires of history
their burning plows
cook up sad shredded pomp
clinging like the translucent skin
of yesterday

who can say
when the masses will turn
how the table
will be set

what is done
is done
and no one
shall escape the shame

as the rabid dogma
flows through
the halls of injustice
consuming all
accepting nothing
but the one

the one truth
bludgeoned into being
by a most unnatural force
hitherto beloved only
by the chosen

will they choose wisely
how long must we wait

who have always held true power
who only require a voice

and a choice