MOBSTERS
Mobsters making money from
Factories selling off death,
Killing off all the innocents
Until nothing worthwhile is left.
Racketeers are profiting
From bringing death and pain,
Till the good are dead or dying
Or else have all gone insane.
Prophets of death grow fat
Upon misery and suffering,
Tearing down hopes and dreams
Too many never recovering.
Jackals lusting for greenbacks
Don't give a damn for anything else,
Not caring about myriad who die
Only caring about themselves.
Parasites are undermining
Every good and decent thing,
Only caring for the unholy dollar
And not about the misery they bring.
Foul creatures without conscience
Horrid, soulless multi-millionaires,
Looking down on us with contempt
Giving themselves undeserved airs.
Social and moral pariahs
That's the only things they are,
Killing off our generation
And leaving society scarred.
THE END
© Copyright 2022 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia
About this poem
I remember the saddest day of my life, when I was nine or ten. When I learnt the most obscene thing I've ever heard. That private companies are allowed to make weapons of war for profit. Despite being unemotional as a rule, I cried out loud when I heard this. I still believe that if the UN passed a worldwide law that only governments could own factories making weapons of war, that war would virtually end. History is resplendent with examples of private companies giving millions of dollars worth of weapons to small nations, then grossly overcharging the big nations, to keep what should have been a short war going for years or even decades, so that they could grow fat on the profits of death!
Written on June 17, 2022
Submitted by philip0157 on June 26, 2022
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 50 sec read
- 0 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XXXX ABAB XAXA XXXX AAXA XCXC XXXX XXX |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 935 |
Words | 165 |
Stanzas | 8 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 3 |
Translation
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"MOBSTERS" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 23 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/130677/mobsters>.
Discuss the poem MOBSTERS with the community...
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In