American AristocratsA Poem by icelandicblue
Olde prep school of former presidents, a gravitas of charm
that could only be achieved through years of age and affluence. Futures foretold before birth, mapped and hung on the points of stars. Clones of influence shaped and formed by dead languages. Perfect emblems on thick sweaters sit behind the wheels of sleek foreign motors, and the minds of the progeny are embossed in the name of their fathers. Self-made is a quaint concept because the mold is predestined and the die is cast around the solid social circles that will once again sit upon the seats of power. They deem themselves our masters for there is no outclassing them. We are the little people, fodder for their machine, our paltry savings cover their dinners sans tip. They are the government, they are big business and they share a comfy bed while the rest of us are burdened with stiff backs from sleeping in beds constructed of worry. Some how the middle class has become a distasteful word, only mentioned in sound bites. Immigrants are paper dolls to be thrown back into the seas and to their wars. We have created our own aristocracy and instead of questioning we are in awe of them. Like vampires they will glamor us to our own demise while they pick every penny from our pockets. © 2015 icelandicblueReviews
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Added on May 17, 2015Last Updated on October 17, 2015 AuthoricelandicblueBostonAboutI do not accept any new friend requests unless we have read and commented on each others poetry. No exceptions. I have enough homework as it is. I expect reciprocity in our exchanges. Read my work and.. more..Writing
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