They don't hear the crys of the starving.
They don't hear the chattering of the freezing.
They don't hear the screaming of the shot.
All they hear are the pennies,
Dropping into their bank accounts;
Growing their hoards like dragons.
Promising broken promises,
Lying through their teeth,
Changing what shouldn't be changed.
Will the penny ever drop?
YOU ARE READING
Just a collection of poems of random themes. It isnt anything too dark or odd, I think. Quick poem for you called Leaves: New are the leaves of Spring's haze Green they turn in Summer's blaze Gold the colour of Autumn's crown But are gone by Winter...