Capitalism

There sit a man on stoney bench,
a peddler of his wares,
a thieving man of careful plot
whom many aren’t aware.

He sits upon his age old rock,
a boulder carved anew,
to steal from naive passersby,
whom haven’t any clue.

His pockets are as deep as wells,
and heavier than lead,
his guilt and grief ephemeral,
replaced by greed instead.

He is the symbol of our time,
the branding of the fold,
the herdsman who forgot his flock,
to tend instead his gold.

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