Ode to the Golden Apple (That Definitely Didn’t Trickle Down)

In the orchard of illusions, ripe with deceit,
Lies the golden apple, glistening under the sun,
A lure for the hungry, a promise of wealth,
Yet, Hail Eris, for she knows,
The apple never falls close to the bottom rung.

“All hail the boardroom!” they chant with delight,
Stuffed with rotting fruit they call success,
While the masses below, mouths agape,
Watch the golden glimmers out of reach,
Trickle-down dreams, a cruel, comic jest.

In the corridors of power, they feast on their greed,
Whispering sweet nothings of prosperity —
“Just wait and you’ll see!” they beam with a smirk,
As crumbs fall like confetti, dancing in the dirt.

Yet, in the shadows, the truth takes its form,
Eris giggles, stirring her pot of chaos,
For in the gleam of their wealth,
The rot is revealed, a putrid delight,
While hope is a fruit that never reaches the vine.

“In the orchard of illusions, golden apples feed no one,”
They dangle like dreams just beyond the grasp,
While the hungry grow weary, their stomachs a void,
Expecting the bounty to rain from on high,
Futility wrapped in a capitalist guise.

So let the corporate overlords bask in their shine,
For the golden apple is a mirage, a crime.
Eris dances through the rubble of their schemes,
Turning their riches to ashes, their laughter to screams.

For the true wealth is shared, not hoarded away,
And the apple’s sweet nectar, we’ll harvest today.
In this chaotic embrace, let us rise and reclaim,
The orchard of hope, where we’ll all stake our claim!