Donna Dawn Konitzer
A poor girl's dreams.
Thinking it a delusion of grandeur
A lesser woman's desire to climb to that
Highest rung on the ladder.
Laughing at (and oft' times undermining) her efforts to
Bring success to fruition.
HYPOCRITES OF THE NEW MILLENNIUM
tired peasant farmers toil away
smashing and grinding,
with tired feet,
the coca leaves that feed my need.
Making only pennies
and perhaps a meal or two,
smashing leaves to paste—
tearing feet and toes;
the chemicals burning them,
But they don't know this.
Overfed drug lords
fight over territory,
prancing around as they display newly-acquired wealth
in theiur cheap, tacky clothing,
as beautiful autos drive them through
the barren streets
of the poor, destitute cities
The status quo remains.
Nobody does anything.
The war on drugs is a farce.
With all her might,
Amerika is a fool in the eyes of the world
Allowing something so insidious and destructive
to become so pervasive.
The problem could be wiped out in one strike,
yet nobody makes this suggestion
Saddam thumbs his nose at us and it's grounds
The Colombian drug lords fill our streets
with the filthy product of their greed
and nothing is done
Who are the REAL terrorists?
Two towers fall, killing thousands of people;
U.S. retaliation is swift and severe.
The Colombian drug lords kill thousands every year,
prepping more for death every day.
Nobody does a thing.
The hypocrites in Washington look the other way.
soft, like velvet
A warm moist silken shroud.
For me, a sweet fullness,
tunneling my warm depths
come crashing down again—
over and over and;
throbbing then stillness,
in your embrace.
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