deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Economy Class
As if by magic, flashes of thoughts distract me in my sleep, the recession's deep. On the fool’s thought-bank, news of its arrival, dampens the souls of investors, debt-drivers, and financial cavaliers. From top to bottom, society, broken by the spirit by which it was made, crumbles to the dust in which it will fade, and grown men drown in a sea of red numbers. History's shoulder, cold no-more, turns to punish those who fled its wrath, and those who tried. Civilization stands on the worthless harbour's wood, drenched in fear and consumers' pride, waiting for the golden ships of time, to steer them through this stormy tide[/font]
Published 28th Nov 2009
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