I wrote a poem...

They live in our compromises,

Unconscious engines, young gods

New Molochs. Shovel and shovel

  your hours into their all-consuming furnace.

To save our lives we lose them, saying

'Let institution of collective effort

    save us.'

Let ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ stand over the gates.

(More than half of us have lost,
 by now,
 more than half of us.)

Leaders pipe to us in their piebald,

Winning our will,

To claim from us our highest good -

        in exchange: least-bad and stability.

When you speak to a leader

Put a knife to your throat -

Commitments are easy in the mouth,

They hook their flukes to the inmost parts.

- ALC

It is not a very good poem, but I thought I might as well write it as not.