Preternatural Harbor ~ Philip Brent

All our symbols of success and failure
Are much more than they might appear
Though they may not be what you think
Paper, bits of metal, a conspirator’s wink

If you are rich, you believe I am wrong
All your wants, needs met, a happy song
If you are poor, you know that I am right
Chance to meet your needs, alone, slight

Cash won’t hug you nor hold your hand
No matter where you live, poor or grand
It cannot stop the sunset, buy the dawn
We all end up resting beneath the lawn

Burned upon a pyre, our ashes scattered
Left to be picked clean, as if it mattered
Some rising, some falling, it’s all a game
Our ultimate ending will all be the same

Those in the middle, schooled to hate
Masses beneath them earned their fate
Those on top; we want to be like them
Believe our lives could gleam like gems

As the richest continue to gain still more
Squeeze out the middle to join the poor
When the middle fall low, quite shocked
No friends among those reviled, mocked

Don’t worry, the rich profit may end us all
Weapons, war, plagues, profiteering or oil
Nuclear blasts, global warming fast or slow
Live rich and die anyway, don’t you know?