When come you, Spring of Hope?
Where are you, quiet revolution?
What say you, peaceful demonstration?
Whose theory waxed this trickle-down?
In truth,
Wealth’s waterfall pools
In dripping crystal chandeliers
And reflective marble floors.
Abundance swallows the drowned,
Gurgling, “Fake news, fake news.”
The reign falls in heavy green sheets
On BMWs,
In tower toasts,
In brokered storms.
This Nation’s Spring lies
Stopped, corked,
Shuttered, barred,
Sealed,
Walled.
The flow is dammed,
“Damned dreamers!”
Trickle? No.
Not a single
Drop.
By JB Morris- Poems, Prose, and Possibilities- mostly about life, sometimes about God, with brief interludes concerning shoe addiction.
Toss a Coin into the Poet’s Cap
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Obscure Writings of An UnAcclaimed Author 