Ivory Towers

Behind silhouetted trees lurks the
twinkling lights of commercial industrialisation.
The fight begins between the living and the dead.
Only to be saved by the new generation,
With hands worked to the bone and eyes
sunken deep into the abyss of a fragile head.
The cities of ‘Eden’ open to the skies,
Upon which the kings of the ivory tower sit
on pillows of hedonism and lies.

Workers fill their bellies on cascades of
hope and empty promise,
We are the malfunction of a motor driven
f*ck up.
All these gods understand is how to be dishonest.
We romanticise the paths laid out for us
To blindly ignore the abuse we endure,
Thanking our leaders for allowing us to
suffer another day,
Idolising the work ethic they themselves do not maintain.
And yet we pray.
The kingdom of this world is not the same as mine.