The Last Philosopher
The last philosopher, lost in thought,
stood where silence and questions fought.
An incentive stirred within her chest,
to seek the truth and leave the rest.
“The survival of the fittest,” she’d say,
but pondered who defines the way.
The golf links lie so near the mill,
where toil and leisure both stand still.
The lawyers know too much, too well,
of rules and loopholes—silent hell.
They argue life by written lines,
while men in dives drink their wines.
Yet here, the thinker still remains,
untouched by wealth, immune to gains.
She asks, not what the strong can take,
but what the weak may one day make.
Another Riot
Flames rise in the night,
Voices spark, then silence falls,
Tides turn, rules take flight.
Post-2020 brought about a growing awareness and anger over economic inequality. Many essential workers risked their lives while wealthier individuals had the luxury of working from home or were relatively unaffected. This has lead many to question the structure of capitalism and its impact on the working class. The pandemic exposed the fragility of the gig economy, the unfairness of low wages, and the vulnerability of those without financial safety nets.
Doom—Devoted
You preach to me of laws, of codes, of rules,
Of freedom dressed in convention’s tools,
Yet art and life both rise and fall,
Beyond the bounds of your narrow wall.
I sail my ship near treacherous shoals,
Where tides of rage meet battered souls,
Upstairs, downstairs, worlds collide,
As I change within, no need to hide.
For art, like life, is never tame,
A flicker, a spark, a defiant flame—
It breaks your codes, defies your claim,
And writes its own unyielding name.
I am doom—devoted, free, untied,
No law, no wall shall stem my tide.
For life is art, and art is strife,
In every breath, the pulse of life.
WoPoLi 
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