The Drum

It is constant
the beating
of bone against skin
stretched over a civilization

work, pain, work, gain, work, pain, the same, the same

because we know no privilege
save for the exception
of a legacy passed on
by others
who were charged with carrying the drum

work, pain, work, gain, work, pain, the same, the same

But the magician has grown smarter
as our dissent grows
a generation of minds waking up
despite a system provided
to ingrain the same

and so beautiful baubles dance
convincing us
ours can be a life
without want, without worry
as our bones turn to plastic
and the skin of the drum goes digital

work, spend, work, spend, rewards, rewards, rewards

you will never hold clear title to
but, for perhaps a moment
you can buy time with a silver spoon
and afford to tip
the minimum wage server so that he or she
can pick up a quart of milk on their way home
pretending
this is how it was supposed to be.

work, pain, work, gain, work, pain, the same, the same

our bones ache in sympathy
as the plastic entombs
and the skin evaporates
offering no bouncing back
this time

and we are left
to chase an echo
never thinking
we might be able to control
how tight the skin is stretched.

@Hedge_Witch is bringing back the magic to OpenLinkNight this week at dVersePoets...see you at 3pmEST