If hope were not helpless

Poetry 1 Minute

I am tempted to disbelieve the mantra of our founding fathers

etched at the base of Lady Freedom,

“give us your tired, weak, and huddled masses yearning to break free.”

 

The throne we resisted usurped by corporate greed,

shackling 9′ to 5′ servitude for huddled masses in cubicles.

A faceless stranger has taken the royal throne.

 

 

Published by Nick Saba

I'm a writer who practices ultrasound. Poetry is my passion, and Irony is my best friend. On my free time I take pictures of people's organs to help radiologists make diagnoses.

Published

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