Hoping We Can Levitate Without Falling To The Ground Poem by M. A Heathcote

Spirits of prisoners rattle their chains.
It's a golden age for stolen bones and faceless devils.
And killers committing homicide
It's a golden age for orphans eating gruel and neglecting school
It's a golden age for cotton mills.
And the workhouse for malnutrition
And the death penalty, it's a golden age.
For infantile deaths before the age of seven
For poor sanitation and harsh living conditions
Dreaming of a skylark behind the clouds

Spirits of prisoners rattle their chains.
It's a golden age for long hours, low wages,
And widespread suffering
While the wealthy enjoyed advancements
Of the Industrial Revolution
Others face numerous diseases without doctors
It was a golden age, and not that unlike today.
When I see the homeless in the street
And people, people neglected in hospital corridors
It's a golden age for sure.

It's the reality for many, especially the poor.
There's a lack of necessities.
If you're working class
It's your cross to bear.
Okay, there's no more death penalty.
There have been improvements along the way.
And slavery has been long gone, too.
But we're all enslaved by a minimum wage and despair.
Hoping we can levitate without falling to the ground.
Hope there's a silver lining to that dark cloud, maybe.