Why Do We Obey?

The keys sit in the locks. Yet, we wait to eat.
The chain is wet from wrists that approve.
We hold each other down and call it grace.

The table gleams—each fruit, each slab of meat
Placed perfect, as if carved to never move.
The keys sit in the locks. Yet, we wait to eat.

Starving, one rises from their seat
Held down by those who do not move.
We hold each other down and call it grace.

Those closest to the table steal their treat.
The rest wait for those with food to choose.
The locks rust open, yet we wait to eat.

Those with collapsed stomachs are covered in sheets.
The chains are not removed.
Their weight holds us down and we call it grace.

We all rise from our seat.
Only some look to improve.
The chain drops and they rush to eat—
The chain forced on their necks by those still calling it grace.

– Simon Rook