Imperial Harvest -- A Poem

Imperial Harvest

…and it seems that those who live in chains
are made to suffer all the more;
it seems that they who've toiled in vain
carried the dead weight of the whole.

Oh, on their shoulders lies a burden,
a forever dormant, bitter grain,
a selfish seed that mocks the garden;
it hoards the hope they sought to gain.

So yes these ones, they'll die of hunger,
and we, even then feed off their bones;
poor trampled weeds, their seeds will wander,
and grow into dreams others shall own.

We are the ones for who they're grown,
these fruit of sweet fortune and pain;
We eat these, our sons, who raise our thrones,
And they are of course, always to blame.