The Creator

One must walk in chains

The blinding sun hiding their lovely days

Beading sweat of turmoil

Each rib of bone poking through skin

And one must be seated on a high throne,

With a large belly of food

Served by maids in those same chains

One child must feel

 The loving,  careful, gentle hands

Of a mother and father

Have wounds be tended for

And tears be wiped away

And one child must bear beating bruises and scolding

Wail alone in pain

And be left alone in the cold days of winter

One must reach for the golden ring

Eyes shining with hope

On the carousel 

And one must fall down

Off the carousel

Down, down, the slippery slope

Falling in endless the tunnel

Of brutal winds and darkness

One must be ignorant and foolish

Bribed and puppeteered

Influenced and controlled

And one must be the puppeteer 

Intelligent and educated

Skillful and wicked

One must wither

And one must prosper

One must obey

And one must control