of sorts... utopia for
the purveyors of science fiction.
It's an overflowing
of the ancient cornucopia,
a horn of plenty...
not for the Roaming elite,
they're never happy.
It's a celebration of harvest
and plow... the reminder
of workin', and playin',
and livin' in the now!
No smoking of your fallow deer
or boiling of a parrot pet...
entertainment is what you are...
not slaves brought in
from lands afar
performing in exotic dance,
enchanting songs
and limericks,
to a den of gaudy knaves.
The lazy elite won't understand-
their kind will fall
out of supply and demand.
The peasants, as always
will celebrate...
they ask for so little
but their thanks are great...
to Whom, who cares?
that hierarchy
can certainly wait.
The revelry will continue
as the lazy feasters
lose their guts to
vomitoriums.
No wonder history repeats itself in a burp of belch.
No comments:
Post a Comment