The walls are made of the wounded.
The doors are made of stone.
Beyond we are promised riches
Greater than we’ve ever known.
Comply! You’ll be rewarded.
Security not guaranteed.
The government makes the cuts
And watches as the nation bleeds.
The king sits in his counting house.
The bankers chase the gold.
The world collapses under the weight
Of problems that money can’t solve.
Poor Shoulders is a poem about society written by Ms Moem.