At their command
mountains of raw iron
are refined into steel
and the steel rises
to form massive towers
that scrape at the sky.
Many more mountains of coal
are burning in furnaces
turning the machines
to create bursts of lightning
that buzz and crackle
through millions of miles of copper
to light their towers
and power the devices
that blast a barrage
of dancing images
into the eyes
of billions of people.
They look down on us
from atop their towers
with cold steel glares.
Hollow laughter
echoes through the hallowed halls
of their global empire
as the people
who built their towers
and grew their food
and mined their ores
and bled in their wars
and died in their gutters
loudly proclaim
that the wizards
at the top of the towers
are great magnates of business
and owe nothing to those below
and that we
who sweat and toil
in the shadow of their towers
owe them everything.
Evil wizards
have taken over the world.
But if we break the spell
we can take it back
and weave a new magic
together.