Poetic-Verses
I'm your Server, might I suggest the Veal"
Serve your Master
Serve him well..
Make use of his Whip
Make use of his Lash..
A Good Slave,
Knows neither his Master
Nor Either his Task..
Your Agony is his Pleasure..
Your Sweat is his Cash..
Just a Dumb Animal
in the Field..
Grazing on Plantation grass..
Your Freedom was invented--
For you to have something to grasp..
The Carrot in Front of the Horse..
Forever chasing the Dream
Never realizing the scheme..
It's too Late to turn back the clock..
Your Soul was placed on the chopping block..
Little Solace for all the work that was done..
Little more than Glue, with the pages come undone..
A Nightmare, with a Velvet Revolver..
Placed oh so gently to your brow..
The Trigger was pulled..
A Vegetable you are..
With no more Brains, than Farmer Brown's
Old Milk Cow..
So weighed down, with the cold Heart of Reality..
To wear over your Head, Like King Solomon's Gold Crown..
Pleasure to your eyes,
Fake Fortune and Fame
Gluttony becomes sickness,
and with Sickness comes Pain..
the end~~
by Rick Weber
December 2, 2016
created in the hour of 2006
copy rights reserved 2016(c)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Serve him well..
Make use of his Whip
Make use of his Lash..
A Good Slave,
Knows neither his Master
Nor Either his Task..
Your Agony is his Pleasure..
Your Sweat is his Cash..
Just a Dumb Animal
in the Field..
Grazing on Plantation grass..
Your Freedom was invented--
For you to have something to grasp..
The Carrot in Front of the Horse..
Forever chasing the Dream
Never realizing the scheme..
It's too Late to turn back the clock..
Your Soul was placed on the chopping block..
Little Solace for all the work that was done..
Little more than Glue, with the pages come undone..
A Nightmare, with a Velvet Revolver..
Placed oh so gently to your brow..
The Trigger was pulled..
A Vegetable you are..
With no more Brains, than Farmer Brown's
Old Milk Cow..
So weighed down, with the cold Heart of Reality..
To wear over your Head, Like King Solomon's Gold Crown..
Pleasure to your eyes,
Fake Fortune and Fame
Gluttony becomes sickness,
and with Sickness comes Pain..
the end~~
by Rick Weber
December 2, 2016
created in the hour of 2006
copy rights reserved 2016(c)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comment On This Poem ---
I`m your Server, might I suggest the Veal`
I`m your Server, might I suggest the Veal`
