Furious eyes behind glasses
Suddenly the hair turns white
Older in rage
Bolder in stage
All he worries
All he fears
All his dreams are pride and money
So he works like a stomping horse
Like a frantic gladiator
We see no sun
We see no home
We taste no homemade cooking
We hear no our children’s laugh
Everything is greater than us
He doesn’t want our names
He doesn’t want our souls
He only wants a gold pillow in his dream
Novia, 2014
Poetry Prairie 