Drunks At The Wheel Poem by Matthew Holloway

We are all in our own nations
And a collective sense
On a journey along the same road
Into the unknown
The drunks and the clowns
Sit at the front driving
They paid for their seat, the key
They steer as they see fit
With little or no regard for passengers
Those screams and voices drowned out
By a radio of propaganda
Those cream leather luxury seats
A far distance from the wooden benches
Rough and splintered
Where eyes look onward feeling powerless
Eyes watching those drunken clowns
Laugh and steer without a thought
If you have a faith then prey
For mercy or redemption
If you are faithless still prey
For a bottle or revolution
There's drunks at the wheel
I fear only our direction