Originally titled "Away from the Ivory Tower", I wrote this apocryphal poem for a college poetry course and forgot about it until I recently wrote a short essay condemning the Federal Reserve, an institution established by David Rockefeller's father that is responsible for years of misery upon millions.
Ten dollar vendor sunglasses
conceal his dead, red eyes.
An ‘I Love NY’ shirt covers
his designer suit.
David Rockefeller meanders
through the Truth Rally.
The limo driver
told him this would be a
shortcut. But no-
he’s smack dab in the
middle of the plebs.
The cattle.
Passing by hundreds of
independent cameras,
he’s hoping he doesn’t
get caught; otherwise
they might eat him.
Almost at the entrance.
“Doesn’t that guy look familiar?”
Alex Jones’ hoarse voice called out
as David brushed past him,
his replacement orphan heart
slamming around his chest.
‘I’ll need a new virgin blood transfusion’
he thinks to himself.
Finally at the entrance.
A crooked smile stretches across
his wrinkled 101 year old face.
It disappears when the doorman
Doesn’t recognize him.
“I bet Soros doesn’t have to deal with this shit,”
