adventures in dysthymia

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Valuable, a poem


Commodities. Valuable only
when someone is willing to pay
or to steal. You. Me.

Raped in the marketplace.
Sold into servitude.
How else know my worth?

How else know your worth
than to steal all that
is you? Take. Hold.

Toss aside, worthless.
Every coin changes hands.
Every coin becomes the game

of chance. Heads. Tails.
Life. Loss. I sit
unpurchased. Valueless.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

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