A Stirring Underfoot
A rumbling can be heard on the horizon
A great stirring underfoot
as dried, dying leaves crack and crumble
from the weight bearing down on them
The march into battle echoes in far off villages
and mighty metropolis
as clear as the fallen pin.
A wisp of wind in the Sahara
is all that is needed
to create a sand storm
in the dust bowl of the mid-west
Unrest in the streets and town squares
amassed in the raised voices
at the checkout counter
And a fist can be seen in the air
multiplied by the millions
of disheveled and downtrodden.
No, we are not to blame for the bankers’ plunder.
We, we are merely the results of deregulation
of capitalization
of corruption in high places
and our voices will be heard
Vibrating in your meeting halls
crumbling your capitols
to dust and ash
from whence they came.
Greedy children and their teachers
are not the guilty parties.
The excess spoils will not be found
in the pockets of the toiling masses.
Grandma’s social security check
did not crash the economy
any more than did immigrants
send your jobs to China.
We are not the problem
but like a thunderbolt from Zeus’ fingertips
slicing through the darkness
of their expedient lies
We … will be … the solution.
Mark lipman
Los Angeles
USA
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