Spirit Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2018 05 05
I plant small seeds in the soil of the Earth
then they sprout and grow into tall fruit trees
that blossom apples I pluck with my hands
and fill straw baskets I set in my cart.
I haul the cart along the winding road
past hills where sheep graze like fluffy white clouds
and along the river that glows in sunlight,
singing with birds that chirp in the old trees.
By the sparkling fountain in the town square
I park my cart and sit on small wood stool
to exchange apples for small silver coins,
stamped with face of our benevolent king.
Three boys with oak clubs break my money bench
and tip my cart so apples spill in mud
then smash them all and step on my frail fingers,
but run away when the police arrive.
The police fine me for making the mess,
taking all my silver coins from my purse,
then throw my cracked apple cart on bonfire,
and I weep alone as the sun sets black.
Two soldiers take me to their sleeping tent
where they give me wine till I cannot stand
then rape me all night as I stare at stars
and push me out of their tent in gray dawn.
I wash my face in market fountain pool
then silently walk the long winding road,
ignoring birds that chirp in the old trees,
past hills where sheep graze like fluffy white clouds.
Someone enclosed my apple trees with wall
of heavy stone that blocks my way back home
so I walk to the large brick factory
where I sew clothes with hundreds of young girls.
Standing in line after we work twelve hours,
I step forth to receive my daily wage
and the man with glasses who never smiles
gives me two silver coins for all my work.
I buy hard loaf of bread and block of cheese
and small bottle of wine with all my pay
then sit on my bed in the dormitory,
looking at my hands while the girls sing ballads.
Two girls gesture so I follow them out,
through narrow winding streets of cobblestone,
in secret door to crowded smoke-filled room
where old bearded man presides in oak chair.
Looking like the wise mage of theater plays,
the old man gazes at the listening crowd
and smokes cigar as he begins to speak,
"My name is Karl Marx from Trier, Germany."
"I preach social revolution of workers,
uniting to control means of production
so we can establish communal method
where everyone benefits from their labor."
"The basis of human society
is how we humans work material nature
to produce nutritious means of subsistence,
for we tend seeds to grow the food we eat."
"We divide labor into social classes
to manage the relations of production
based on the ownership of property
where some people live from labor of others."
"The system of class division depends
on mode of production, tools and machines
in commercial and industrial buildings
on land with minerals, plants, and animals."
"Rich people claim to own productive land
while poor people are forced to sell their labor,
exchanging hours and strength performing actions
in return for wages for food and shelter."
"Society transforms through various stages
where new classes displace dominant classes
from feudalism of kings and peasants
to capitalism of owners and workers."
"When material productive forces clash
in conflict with old relations of production,
that sets the stage for social revolution
when communism will rule the new way."
"The working proletariat who work
to produce all the goods and services
will rise to overthrow the bourgeoisie
to control material means of production."
"Everybody who shares society
will own the means of production as equals,
from each according to their ability
and thus to each according to their needs."
The audience of workers applauds his speech,
and Karl Marx continues to smoke his cigar
while they all eat feast of chicken and wine,
then sing worker songs long into the night.
Walking back to apple orchard I planted,
I tear down the stone wall with bleeding hands
and pick apples from trees I tended well
to share them with my new communist friends.
Barking dogs race into my apple grove
so I climb the tree to escape sharp teeth,
but five men with guns drag me from my tree
and accuse me of stealing my own apples.
The tall men who rides the pretty white horse
accuses me of trespassing on his land
so I explain my father owned this land
and thus apple trees I planted are mine.
Smirking as he smokes cigar, the thin man
orders they shoot me, so they make me stand
against the tree where I slept many years
and fire two dozen bullets in my heart.
© Surazeus
2018 05 05
I plant small seeds in the soil of the Earth
then they sprout and grow into tall fruit trees
that blossom apples I pluck with my hands
and fill straw baskets I set in my cart.
I haul the cart along the winding road
past hills where sheep graze like fluffy white clouds
and along the river that glows in sunlight,
singing with birds that chirp in the old trees.
By the sparkling fountain in the town square
I park my cart and sit on small wood stool
to exchange apples for small silver coins,
stamped with face of our benevolent king.
Three boys with oak clubs break my money bench
and tip my cart so apples spill in mud
then smash them all and step on my frail fingers,
but run away when the police arrive.
The police fine me for making the mess,
taking all my silver coins from my purse,
then throw my cracked apple cart on bonfire,
and I weep alone as the sun sets black.
Two soldiers take me to their sleeping tent
where they give me wine till I cannot stand
then rape me all night as I stare at stars
and push me out of their tent in gray dawn.
I wash my face in market fountain pool
then silently walk the long winding road,
ignoring birds that chirp in the old trees,
past hills where sheep graze like fluffy white clouds.
Someone enclosed my apple trees with wall
of heavy stone that blocks my way back home
so I walk to the large brick factory
where I sew clothes with hundreds of young girls.
Standing in line after we work twelve hours,
I step forth to receive my daily wage
and the man with glasses who never smiles
gives me two silver coins for all my work.
I buy hard loaf of bread and block of cheese
and small bottle of wine with all my pay
then sit on my bed in the dormitory,
looking at my hands while the girls sing ballads.
Two girls gesture so I follow them out,
through narrow winding streets of cobblestone,
in secret door to crowded smoke-filled room
where old bearded man presides in oak chair.
Looking like the wise mage of theater plays,
the old man gazes at the listening crowd
and smokes cigar as he begins to speak,
"My name is Karl Marx from Trier, Germany."
"I preach social revolution of workers,
uniting to control means of production
so we can establish communal method
where everyone benefits from their labor."
"The basis of human society
is how we humans work material nature
to produce nutritious means of subsistence,
for we tend seeds to grow the food we eat."
"We divide labor into social classes
to manage the relations of production
based on the ownership of property
where some people live from labor of others."
"The system of class division depends
on mode of production, tools and machines
in commercial and industrial buildings
on land with minerals, plants, and animals."
"Rich people claim to own productive land
while poor people are forced to sell their labor,
exchanging hours and strength performing actions
in return for wages for food and shelter."
"Society transforms through various stages
where new classes displace dominant classes
from feudalism of kings and peasants
to capitalism of owners and workers."
"When material productive forces clash
in conflict with old relations of production,
that sets the stage for social revolution
when communism will rule the new way."
"The working proletariat who work
to produce all the goods and services
will rise to overthrow the bourgeoisie
to control material means of production."
"Everybody who shares society
will own the means of production as equals,
from each according to their ability
and thus to each according to their needs."
The audience of workers applauds his speech,
and Karl Marx continues to smoke his cigar
while they all eat feast of chicken and wine,
then sing worker songs long into the night.
Walking back to apple orchard I planted,
I tear down the stone wall with bleeding hands
and pick apples from trees I tended well
to share them with my new communist friends.
Barking dogs race into my apple grove
so I climb the tree to escape sharp teeth,
but five men with guns drag me from my tree
and accuse me of stealing my own apples.
The tall men who rides the pretty white horse
accuses me of trespassing on his land
so I explain my father owned this land
and thus apple trees I planted are mine.
Smirking as he smokes cigar, the thin man
orders they shoot me, so they make me stand
against the tree where I slept many years
and fire two dozen bullets in my heart.
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