In the muted haze of a whiskey dawn, beneath the jaded glow,
A tale of trust lies traded, in a world moving slow.
Words, once cheap, now in scarcity, their price strikingly high,
Born in shadowed corners, where the desperate echoes lie.
Behold the silver-tongued ones, in their gilded rapture caught,
Who spit words as if water, their privilege they have bought.
Their tongues, how they waggle, sinking vessels in their wake,
In the comfort of their lineage, from life’s cruel ache, they take.
Gaze upon their riches, the gold and gleaming chrome,
Living life as a poem, a privileged, painted tome.
One life bleeds, another scoffs, the world’s a callous game,
Where one is born, so it seems, predetermines their fame.
Our forebears sold their silence, for the devil’s gleaming gold,
Now those of opulence mock us, in their icy hold.
Each generation, chained and bitter, a wound that’s never mended,
Down a path to nowhere, no message to be sent or ended.
Heavy thoughts we bear, unspoken, fears unfurled,
In the dance of the deranged, our voices are unheard.
In bonds we know we should shatter, knowing well the cost,
Yet we choose to bear the yoke, our voices lost.
Misguided were we, thinking gold was all there is,
Was it not the mad Joker who showed us the abyss?
Promised a deluge of riches, despite his bloody spree,
“Trust,” was his siren song, a trap set free.
Trust, the silent currency, woven into life’s tender thread,
In every pledge upheld, every promise, credence is bred.
In the dance of trust, wealth accumulates, unseen,
In this web of relationships, lies life’s true sheen.
Yet this trust, so sacred, has its wolves, its blight,
They who shirk the honest labor, under cover of the night.
They clad our trust in soiled garb, a game we were forced to play,
Lost in the labyrinth of greed, we forgot our own way.
The conmen, in their cunning, bent the world to their twisted desire,
In a sphere warped and mangled, straight paths are but a quagmire.
To yield or to resist, a choice thrust upon our fate,
The weight of our words, in silence, we contemplate.
If we falter in our deeds, if our words fail to ring true,
We remain mere spectators, in the wealthy’s skewed view.
In our quest to emulate them, we’ve been cruelly deceived,
Our world, their playground, its innocence cleaved.
Yet, perhaps in the hangover heart of twilight, there’s a hint of a new dawn’s dance,
To release the words we hoarded, for the tempest’s advance.
Against the brute force of violence, we hold the flame of truth,
A relentless accountability, the tormentor’s reproof.
With resolve unyielding, we reclaim our rightful sphere,
In bonds reforged, trust rekindled, the dawn of a new era is near.
For this noble cause, I pledge my life, until my final breath,
In the hangover heart of twilight, a new dawn breaks, in the face of death.
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