Growing Up

A long time past, in
What to others would have been
A palace, a boy roamed the corridors,
Spoilt yet neglected, told he would be
Someone, something, special, shown
Ledgers and bills and bank notes,
Schooled in counting only the value
Of money not feelings, made to feel
That he was the only one who could
Understand what the world was
About, that hard cold currency.
The child grew up to be an orange
Man, intent on appearing stronger
Than anyone else, master of the
Deal, failure only behind closed
Doors, fast food smeared on the
Walls in rages. Somehow, he persuaded
The people that he was their saviour,
That he would lead them to the
Promised Land, where only their kind
Would exist. Yet, below the surface,
He counted their money as his, in his
Small sweaty hands, and swore not
To rest until he had exterminated
Every single other living being.

R 15/02/2025 18:35