The Lottery
Blindly following traditions
Is as scary as electing who to rule
Over somebody else's fate, and is in hands of suspicions
When politicians take us as their tool
A murderous tool to stone us,
as described in Jackson's story
Where the lottery's winner didn't need from any quarry
'Cause the weapons were stored, as an ass.
As an ass that carries a load not desired,
But reluctantly keeps going on,
The winner is bluntly put aside
For the others to put any blame on
But what are the winners guilty of?
Nobody certainly knows,
Victims of the status quo thereof
From a lottery none of them enjoys
Jackson's lottery is dealing with solidarity
Or better, the lack of it,
Everyone expectantly waits for miraculously
Not to be singled out and being put to sleep
Put to sleep by being lapidated,
Your body and mind are pelted,
Is like witnessing a kind of suicide,
Where all the
suicidal helpers, at the same square coincide
How many Tesses are there in this world?
Always longing for
a miracle,
When is in their
hands to change it all,
This whole
atmosphere in the story is so dull
It teaches us,
living in oblivion, isn't chemical
It is installed in
your mindset, it can nake your very skull.
By Miss Odilia Pérez
E.L.A. Teacher
