When the parasites have sucked us dry and evil rules the day,
we’ll turn upon each other as the ‘Hunger Games’, we’ll play.
One by one, we’ll be picked off; the lords will slap their thigh.
The ruling class will drool as they watch the peasants die.
We need no drummer’s beat, this is no marching band.
No dress rehearsal needed, the final act is planned.
Before the day is done, will our numbers shrink or gain?
Or will the movement grow just like a spreading stain?
Fear is not our friend, it’s the enemy don’t you see?
They want us to give up, and never to be free.
Some have lost it all, they’re hollow-eyed and gaunt.
Others lie in graves; their spirit’s on the haunt.
Need we all succumb to the lords’ decree for us?
When they throw a hungry victim underneath another bus.
The battle will be long and there is no way to know
if we will be victorious in vanquishing our foe.
There soon will be no option as it all comes to a head.
Either we engage the enemy or we will join the dead.
Shelby I. Courtland
© 2013 Shelby I. Courtland