RUN

a poem by william andrews, Greece

Run
You poor people
Run
you'll be finished
when the day is done
roasted
at the stake
on the fire
for not teaching
your children
the ignorance we desire
For You
the pain
will be much higher
For keeping the Dream
Feeding the young
Run
You Polluticians
Run
Do You seriously
Believe
That when we're done
We will still
Need You
when the Hunger Games
have begun
All in all
You are all fools
You listen to us
from your screens
and believe every sentence
that we speak
Run
You people
Run
We now own
all the guns
that we share
Among the psychotic ones
Now your Hell
has begun
With all your dreams
that you conceive
All your Hopes
that you believed
Has become
just dust
In the wind

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