IT'S TIME TO STORM
HEAVEN.
Under the yoke of
servitude we dragged our existence forward
For generations have
fertilised the earth with our blood
Oiled the machinery of
wealth with our sweat
We have produce
bountiful harvests
A mountain of luxury
Yet
All we know is
persecution pain and
poverty
Struggle laced with
bitter anguish
Our hands have fashioned
a pleasure palace
Feasts abundance
frivolity and a sea of fetishes
For a merciless army
that feeds on selfishness and greed
And although we dwell
under the shadow of hell
We shall never
relinquish our precious dreams
In our hearts we nurture
a better future
A softer world for all
our children
Where poverty's claws
And war's ire
die
One day
Our righteous anger
Will
smoulder and rumble
And cause the old world
to tremble
Before exploding in a
blast of social justice
We the people will storm
the gates of an earthly heaven,
The shape of the poem, like an hourglass, matches perfectly with its essence.
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