Market Day Poem by Blogging Paper

I’m not part of a lost generation.
I’m not part of the 1%;
I am part of a generation who was led astray.
The 99% lay on the back of a horse cart on the hay
As two brothers, layman I believe,
whipped the horses at the bequest of the boss
for they were eager to get to the market
‘for the market is free;
and doesn’t a free market sound good? ’,
and they were dragging us along too.

But I’m not part of that 99%.
And nor do I want to be.

I was one of the few on the cart who decided
that greed and gluttony cannot go unpunished,
that perpetrators of injustice must pay
and though I spread the message every day
the wheels of the cart
would drown me out.
My travelling companions seemed more interested in fresh hay
and although they would listen to me, agree and nod,
it was the fresh hay that got them through the day
and distracted their thoughts from our cause to the horses plod.

And so a few of us decided to leave that cart
And live by a moral code somewhere offering a fresh start.
We are not the 99%,
neither are we a part of a lost generation;
however, our generation is truly lost.