Grind

By Cliff Lake

 

Grind

 

The minions sing the phrases taught them

By the Witless Wizard as he spins wrong legends round,

The chorus that blinds them eagerly,

To the machine that grinds them down.

 

The Wandering Warden berates them as he will,

And lets his hounds howl at every unwanted sound.

And goads the people to dig frantically for the fuel

That fires the machine that grinds them down.

 

The Callous Crows that haunt the House,

So casually they trash the town.

They feather their nests with their own foul,

Working the levers of the machine grinding down.

 

Gray Lady and her matrons

Selling the wrong words in ever-tattered gown,

Their knees scabby and bloody,

As they service the machine that ground them down.

 

The Jargon Jurists jockey for Judas coin,

See their noses go brown.

They waylay the justice they wield,

Greasing the gears of the machine in which they’re ground.

 

Somewhere the eagle may soar high above,

Crying at the soiling of precious ground.

A guardian and a protector

To ward us from the machine grinding down.

 

Cliff Lake 12/5/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: Washington, DC, USA

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