We long to be free,
alone in our cave.
We buy what we see,
consume what we crave.
We rule with such greed,
our fear cannot save.
We live as the weeds
that thrive on the grave.
…in the land of the me
and home of the slave.
Filed under: Poetry, Writing | Tagged: Poetry |
Tell me that’s not a Golden Bull? and just where is this homage to the faithless located, pray tell?
maybe your poem gives me a not-so-subtle clue? 😉
You missed the “Wall St Bull Prayer” last year? And I think the bull is only bronze… so not too ornately sacrilegious.
Bronze? – Cheapskates! 😉
Is that guy on the right KISSING it?
Yes, Blove there is a giant bronze bull in the middle of Wall Street, NY. You can see it in more than one movie. (seen ‘Hitch’? Rather noticeable cameo in that one.)
Ric your poem … can I say ‘damn’? ‘Cause that’s what comes to mind. wow.
thanks Annie. It is a bit of a gut-check poem.
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 24 other followers
Blog at WordPress.com. WP Designer.