Ruling From the Tomb
by Phil Knight
“The tradition of the dead generations weighs like a
nightmare on the minds of the living.” – Karl Marx
Let the drums beat out a dirge.
Paint the epitaphs on every wall.
Things change to remain the same.
Dip the flags, but don’t let them fall.
The people can dance late into the night
As long as keep they within their limits.
Those born to hold the golden hour
Can spare one or two precious minutes.
They work hard who protect and serve
just to keep a lid on a boiling pot.
Occasionally pouring out a ladle or two
To those who could easily have the lot.
Some say it is all so unfair
But things won’t be any different soon
While the traditions of the dead generations
Are still ruling from the tomb.
Gates
by Phil Knight, with image above from phatcatholic
Everywhere the gates were closed
By the strong against the weak.
The rich lived in concrete towers
No-one was allowed to join the clique.
The meek searched for refuge but
Everywhere the gates were closed.
The strong did not hear them call
When on silk couches they reposed.
Some people were short of money
And others frozen under the Sun.
Everywhere the gates were closed
What was said could not be undone.
One day there was a reckoning so
the weak and strong were juxtaposed.
The rich complained of their fate but
Everywhere the gates were closed.
