SEATS OF GREED

Bethel Ineke
@bethelineke908201
1 month ago

Your mansion stands on toil and sweat,
Yet deaf you sit, our cries unheard.
The weight we bear, the wounds we keep,
While you grow fat, we starve and weep.

Aren’t those halls adorned with gold,
While hunger stalks both young and old?
Even the crumbs you cast away
Are priced beyond what we can pay.

Your speeches bloom with empty grace,
Sweet words that mask a soulless face.
You promise light, yet dim the sun,
A game well played—your race is won.

Streets are cracked with broken dreams,
Torn apart by selfish schemes.
You build your towers, high and grand,
While graves stretch wide across the land.

Hands outstretched in silent plea,
Yet mercy is a stranger to thee.
You drain our wealth, you hoard, you lie,
And watch us wither—cold and dry.

But tides will turn, and time will tell,
The cries you mute will one day swell.
For chains may bind the weary soul,
Yet fire still burns beneath the coal.

© INEKE BSC

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