"WEALTH AND DEATH AND PEOPLE"

I write this prose to share my story. However, it is a story of many of our elders in 2024. We should respect all people, not just the rich or powerful.

I am including my heritage in this prose with words and songs of life. We need to cherish our Earth and our lives as human beings.

Life is not fair, and it never has been fair. The wealthy lords are still trying to hold power over us peeps of lower income.

Life is a Journey by Trusselli Art, me Vicki Trusselli

Today I woke up to the sound of music.

Today I sit in my room to choose

My next song,

To sing along,

To play along,

Then I realize there is no money

In my wallet as I wait

For commissions to appear.

But I cried a tear.

I will turn 75 years old this month of Indian summer,

I discovered what a bummer.

I must create a new resume to upload online to Indeed,

Cause I have no money indeed.

So, it is what it is

Tis’

Life in 2024

Not like before.

Inflation has increased prices.

It is like throwing dices

In a gambling game.

But all the same

You say to me

It is to be.

Work til’ you die.

It is a lie.

I am an artist,

A writer,

A lyricist,

An old lady.

So, work in a day gig

Take a swig

Of a cup of coffee and pretend

This is not the end

Of life,

Of my strife,

Of life.

My first job was at seventeen.

So. In-between

Schemes and lovers and it seems

I must force myself to either stand for hours at a time

In a day gig of no rhyme of time.

But to work in a day gig,

Take a swig,

Of the truth of life

To live with strife,

While the billionaires carry on in their five homes

Of luxuries unknown to the lowly ones

Like me and other struggling peeps

The rich do not care.

I swear.

They would be slap us all,

Lock us up kicking us like a ball,

Of soft mushy sticky glue

To carry on as we are blue.

The rich think we are ants on Earth

Of our birth

They are the ants of life and not the lowly workers of day gigs,

Swigs

Of weed drink to create,

To shout we are only bait

To rich people of riches and stitches,

Of time of life those bitches,

To say

We are all human.

We are alive.

To strive to purposely be assuming

That soon

The money will trickle down

To us poor peeps

Through hurdles of the steep

Mountains of trickle down

Of their money all around

The cities and towns

Of worker bees

To supply the rich with keys

To their 5 homes and 5 yachts.

So, what

Do I say today,

As I struggle to pay

On social security at 4 bucks an hour,

As the rich watch from their ivory tower

Of wealth and bigotry,

And they say to us as we sit at the bottom of a tree

To look up to the billionaires of champaign and caviar

So, it is to be

In their den of liars

And schemers over time

To dictate over our lives,

Like a beekeeper watching beehives

Controlling our money

From afar in their scheme of what it is to be

In 2024,

Not as before.

We live.

We love.

We struggle.

We pray for no more please,

You rich peeps are so squeezing

Us out of your world

Your world of yachts and homes everywhere as you swirl

And tell us poor peeps to fuck off!

They say girl

You are nothing to us rich peeps,

So, suck it up,

So, throw up,

So shut up.

I say to the rich bitches

Come down from your ivory tower

Of sour

Bitches of life who squander our money.

Throw into your yachts and 5 homes of sunny

Beaches and mountains of your ivory tower

Of sour,

Grapes of wrath,

Of hot baths,

Of warm swimming pools,

Of your world of whirls,

Of lies and truth of control,

To steal our souls

Of your control

Of

You cannot have my soul,

You wealthy ones of deceit.

So, I weep,

I cry,

I sigh,

Fuck off.

What did I say?

Today I woke up to the sound of music to my ears

With many tears

Through this year.

How do we change the trickle down

Around the town

Of you rich billionaires of Earth

Of birth,

Of all your worth?

I put my panties on

One leg at a time

In this rhyme

Of life

You put your panties on one leg at a time

In this rhyme.

So, your money makes you better than us low life’s

Of time and space,

Of strife of life of this case,

Scenario of our places in society of greed,

Greed and money reign as a dirty seed.

I am old,

I am told,

To work til I die,

Cause the rich need us as they lie

In their den of equities

Of greed.

Indeed,

It is sad,

But I am glad

To write about the greed

Of the billionaires and millionaires and their dirty seeds

Of their hoarding of goods

Of the woods of time

And space

We are part of the Earth

Of our birth

So, one last time

I make a rhyme

To the wealthy peeps of dirty seeds

Fuck off.

This road of my life

Give us a break you tightwad

Of trickle-down economics of your rich squad

Buffy Sainte-Marie - "My Country 'Tis of Thy People You're Dying"

We all die.

We all turn to dust,

Of lust,

Of life,

Of our strife,

Of being on the low realm of the totem pole

Of your souls of the bold.

I am old,

But love life,

Love to write

About the struggles of our lives,

Of the poor peeps and creeps

Of our planet Earth.

May we all learn to love

And hug

With meaning of our life

Of time and space without so much greed and strife

To struggle into the night

This is not right,

But who am I to judge?

The rich thugs,

I carry on,

Sing my song.

While all along

I strive to live my life.

On my way

You say,

So, what is next on this trip?

Loose lips sink ships.

These loose lips of gripes

Carry on,

Lifting the ship out of the sea

Of life as it was meant to be

So, it is what it is,

Back in the trenches

Of day gigs and business

With noncreative day gig of retail

And to deal with my health issues

Of thunderstorms and hail,

As I grab my tissues

To cry into,

So blue,

But I sing my song,

All along

Life’s journey of ups and downs

And clowns and frowns.

I dry my tear,

Not to fear

Carry on dear child.

Carry on awhile.

Love many,

Trust few,

Paddle your own canoe.

The Native American Ten Commandments

IRISH BLESSING: MAY THE ROAD RISE UP TO MEET YOU until we meet again Lyric Word text sing along song