Who even knows though.

(untitled)

A poor man is an imaginary figment desperate to be seen.
Yet on one fated morning he rises from unsteady slumber with a new found hunger.
There are those who stand before us discontent and full of hatred.
We represent the growth.
Before us there were beggars and thieves subjected to the vile whimsy of the rich.
The beggars children are now knocking on the golden gates with gold to spare.
Our pockets runneth over.
There was a man who asked if we were proud of ourselves.
The old traditions were torn asunder, decrepit stone monuments knocked to the earth
On impact they turned to rubble, pebbles and stone.
The old saw themselves in the rubble.
Broken.
Left undone.
The beggars are now the leaders and they own the rich.
The world has shifted and the ignorant veil has been lifted.
We are all enlightened.
Pity those who fear the progression of man.
Pray for those who wish to divide us, set us against each other, turn brothers into enemies, soldiers in apposing armies.
Exalt those who take the forefront and shield us from the stones as they lead us on to glory.
We are beggars no more.