Mosterpiece

Such separation...

turned of tongue...

quite cleverly...

to isolate...

the banquet...

meant for all...

to shine and hide...

the filthy plate...

of filigree...

from the rabble...

in the hall.

Pretensions...

rife with class...

set beyond...

one's grasp...

These...

tasteless tricks...

of shameless...

segregation.

Union...

checked...

and mated...

for the rich...

to sway...

division is...

the wall.

Why lesser men...

look up to them's...

no way...

of knowing...

perhaps...

of hope...

one day.

But they...

their cordial tables...

wiped...

with all disdain...

look down...

the nose...

through centuries...

of breeding.

It's all...

right well...

we live in hell...

while waiting...

to them...

this mis'ry...

doesn't mean...

a thing...

these creatures...

calling...

themselves...

lord's and ladies.

If god's they are...

or think they be...

selecting here...

or there...

among the pretty...

or the rare.

Scarcely...

would the god's...

set table...

for these prick's...

to kick the others...

down a notch...

or...

three.

You see...

we are not...

lesser than...

but higher far...

for many better...

rank among the poor...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015