I Am The Crowd.

Another day, another poem.

I AM THE CROWD.

I am the crowd

I swim in the quagmire of poverty

its hooks, its barbs, tear my flesh

rupture my dreams,

I hold my breath for centuries

hoping to break through, grasp pure air.

Through the murky mire

I see bright things, shiny things sparkle

I see women in fine dresses, men in silk shirts.

I ask myself,

why do I swim in this cesspool?

I want the light and warmth of rectitude

to caress my labouring body,

seeds of my dreams to bloom

like wild flowers in a meadow.

One day, I will use my boundless strength

to haul this torn, battered being

out of the morass

onto the warm grassy bank,

when I do;

Woe betide you, women in fine dresses

woe betide you mister in your fine silk shirt

should you ever try to get in my way,

for I am the strength of the world,

I am the crowd.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk