I have so often considered the demands
of shift work and blue collar workers
locked into daily struggles burdened workers
crushed under the thumb too tired from struggles...
to survive to respond to ghost liberty calls
their revolution is getting food meals on tables
paying bills working slave shifts throwing dice
in shell game designed to possess their houses...
revolutions arise most often among people
with nothing to loose when hopes dreams
of a better life for themselves and their children...
have no more reality than expired fairy tales
apple pie we cannot afford American dream sold
rots in desperation stomachs until match lit flames...
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem