Yes, I Must Be So Correct To Think

« Back  |  

By Liam Kadel

Context:
At the Student Blog, this batch of articles has the theme of redemption. I had been reading some T.S. Eliot for my English class; so considering this prompt, I was inspired to write this poem about the divide between social classes. This is written from the perspective of a billionaire tycoon who got his fortune in a way that hurt many people. Rather than redeeming himself by sacrificing his luxurious lifestyle, he continues to unfairly burden the people under him. The billionaire convinces himself and the public that he earned his fortune, despite his employees doing the majority of the labor.

Yes, I must be so correct to think
My head is on straight
Walk with me up to the penthouse 
Up the spiral staircase 
Through the hoops and rings of fire 
Tongues of flame akin to liars’ 
It’s not hard at all to be a gymnast 
When the finest are the thinnest 
To dine upon the fruit of Eden 
Planted on my payroll 

 

From my balcony I call, 
Hello down there! 
In the thousands they gather 
Applauding at my gall 
Possessed by me, I have the rest 
Stymied; I digress, this was in jest 
I would not associate with 
The lowly feeble-minded populace 
Don’t you see? 
From my balcony I call, 
In quiet spirits with my kindred 
Speaking of the words I said
Actions contrasting with the fears of the dead

 

Mother, I entreat you to forgive 
The high life, the richest luxuries 
That I so do wish to live
But not to give 
Nay, it is I that bears the burden 
But she heard these words and made herself aloof 

 

Well, fine it is then 
I seek not to justify any reason why 
I should not seek to help the weary 
Bleary eyes misted and teary 
Why should I care for the stares 
I am healthy, I am beautiful 
While the poor are rich in sugar made 
In factories I’ve funded and saved 
On craven paths that I have paved 
That lead the sheep into the slaughter 
Fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters 
Pushed down into poverty 
Drowning in the rising seas 
That boil on my soiled stove 
On which I cook my plastic dinners 

 

I awake at 4 o’clock and work out 
Watch the sunrise and I plan my day out
What shall I accomplish? 
Soon you will see that I am this age’s Christ
Though those I’ve employed shall die upon the cross
The masses will remember it as my own sacrifice