Twenty cycles bent to the scythe of time,
the pageant of peace, dollar shackled, passes again.
The unloved ones look on in hope and,
wait,
for God, for anything.
Twenty cycles bent to the scythe of time,
the pageant of peace, dollar shackled, passes again.
The unloved ones look on in hope and,
wait,
for God, for anything.
Suburban Leaves 
“Dollar Shackled”. I love your entire poem, but if I had only read “dollar shackled”, I would still think your poem was excellent.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Paul, your appreciation is valued.
LikeLike