These Coins in the Bank

A poem about our social economic imbalance.

Coins in our bank.

Thundering tanks,

take out their justification

not knowing our station.

Yield power inside this dark hour.

Yield pride don’t take their side.

Rolling tracks down concrete streets

flexing their masculine Golden Fleece.

No longer bowing to the masses.

We are separate human classes.

Yield honor to forsake another.

Yield to break down our brothers.

Coins in our bank construct these chains.

Lightning guns rain,

showing our place.

There is no space left for grace.

Living our indentured life,

building their new world upon our labor.

Coins to buy freedom from

Poverty.

Feed our children,

Shelter for our families.

Quench this incurable thirst of inequality.

We are torn apart while they watch us fight.

These coins in the bank blind our true sight.

Additional poetry published on Medium