Description
PAWNS
One man is frail on his own,
But together we can take the throne,
Pass on this message,
No time for letters.
Fish bones for the vermin,
The human fire warms those that are closest,
In the distance those elsewhere freeze out on their own,
With bread however dry and we break it together,
A promise of forever,
The streets are cold and wet puddles black with soot of the city,
Floating down gutters of sleet and mess.
The secrets of the streets,
What to eat,
Which meat to share,
Scurry rats, scatter bones, gather leavings.
And the wharf, a mess with the city's misgivings.
Ships bring us in the night,
Bounty from other shores before the rabid dogs bite.
There's more of us in tow,
More of us below.
Whispers in the streets,
One man is frail on his own,
But together we can take the throne.
Grab your pitchforks,
We'll take what we deserve,
The King's on his throne doesn't smell the armies of dirt outside his window,
Doesn't feel that hurt that we feel in the shadows,
If the weakest of us fall we pick them up,
Protest at the gallows,
For our way of life we bleed.
Soldiers at the front,
Taste the grit of battle,
Power in the fist,
Bleed for this,
We will never concede,
Blade to knuckle,
The lesser ones buckle,
Under the will to power,
Under the crest of that burning flower,
Pawns rise from the rubble.
To outshine the master is our greatest desire.
By Laurence Fuller, 2022
@laurencefuller
www.laurencefuller.art/web3