Elite

So you're elite,
You've got more money,
You've got more cars, homes, stuff.
Power over subordinates.
Does it make you feel good,
Are you better than  me,
Better than the penniless, the homeless.
Do you look down on the little people,
See the destitute as cattle,
As worthless pariahs suckling your hind teat,
Poor you, the elevated, the ego swollen,
Your bank account a crutch against
The wind chill that is poverty, that is greed.
Are you untouchable, is your head dodging clouds,
How does elite feel, naked in the woods,
Making plans of conquest over those
Worth less than your perception of self.
Does elite feel immortal,
Does it feel superior,
Does it make you orgasm 24/7
All over the huddling masses.
Elite, on high, ivory tower crumbling
From pathetic immoral erosion of heart,
For your information,
Earth is down here, among the bedbugs,
The cockroaches, the hungry mice.
The socialist menace.
Your high horse will soon
Carry your collective elite asses out to pasture,
The people have spoken,
The giant, no longer sleeping.