A poem by Glenn Allen Hall
QUEEN OF THE HILL novel available on Amazon
The swamp claims the right to ultimately say who will thrive or wither away
It expects you to yield to their power and greed in order to live through the day
Never forget it is we who decide and it is you who retains the choice
The ultimate power is bequeathed to us all if we can someday speak as one voice
Elected officials are nothing but tools in the charrette we wield and tote
Merely employees of our United States whom we change with our registered vote
It falls upon us, the citizen horde, the wretched, the refuse, the masses
No longer we’ll stand on the side of the road and bow down as our destiny passes
Political views may be scattered about, sent aloft like a hand full of seeds
Haphazardly tossed they fall where they may, to yield only a crack filled with weeds
As they mature, they tangle and fight for the precious and limited space
Hell bent to be the dominant voice, each choke themselves off at the base
None of them thrive nor make it to bloom and all of their potential is lost
In a desperate attempt to be number one, they die without seeing the cost
A personal bias may be spread and passed on, without anyone knowing its source
To be embraced and revered by any dim fool and not diluted, refuted or forced
The seeds have been planted and the roots infiltrate to the heart of subjective and meek
Political agendas are made and designed to control the stupid and weak
Question authority and doubt what you hear, make them earn your favor and trust
And kill all the weeds that grow in your life, use your heel to grind them to dust