America

They say this is the world of plenty
but, how then, do we have people
living on the street?

Hunger in their belly,
calluses on their feet.

Here the game is Money
and, if you don't play,

you lose completely.

Where can you Go
when you have no family
when you have no home

?

Who can you Be
with out a career
with out those degrees

?

You're about as Un-American as you can be
if you live life
this completely.

Is our society no thing more than a sentence we're committed to carrying despite the cost of it?

When is our turn?
To rise up.
To live.
To give this life the symphony it deserves.

An oxymoron it is, for, sure, for, here,
you can only have what is given to you
typically through hard work.



Mother Nature.
That beautiful Earth that used to sustain us with just the minimalist effort.
Now there's no thing left of it,
She's been so squandered.

Our Mother..
Forked and Pitched,
Claims All Over Her,
in the name of greed and possessiveness.

Can I have a piece of your pie, I ask?
Dirty. Sick. Heart Broken. Beaten.
Starving.

As you lick your lips and drip
with sticky exuberance.

I cry
I die
on these streets

that cement
my hate
my fate
of,

America.