Written from my Make-Shift Bed

They rest atop our toil and sweat,
While we lay in make-shift bed.
They climb the steps of our good labour,
While we pave their way in favour.

A mask of honour hides their truth,
They sit within their seats uncouth
And guide us toward modern civility,
Protesting humanity and humility.

Jeweled blades rest in silken cloth,
The knife of Judas in his kiss
Which ran direct from cheek to back-
A subtle whisper into abyss.

How times have changed- how they speak amoung the hiss.
The sound is different now, it fits.
But we have heard how tongues can twist,
Catching flies like frogs through mist.

Wizened fools speak through ancient books
To keep that which ancestry took
And hoarded over centuries past,
These vaults protected by their class.

They rest atop our toil and sweat,
While we lay in make-shift bed
And clamber with our weary limbs
For that which makes us kin to kings.