Monarch

The common place routine fornicates

foul truths of the mundane.

We pay our bills while our sisters and brothers

spill their blood and time into a

crippling concrete capitalistic cancer.

We are labeled insane if we abstain from distractions

that are programmed for premeditated reactions for

prolonged dissatisfaction.

Puppets on the big screen populate

the essence of the archaic dream except we are

attached to the strings that weave a dirty and

decomposed liberty. The forgotten emancipation is

now patented with big bucks and we simmer

in global oil spills and military drills

too tired to give a fuck.

 

Our lives live languid and liquescent,

with our thoughts and fears as tender

delicatessen.

 

We try to abstain from distractions

that are programmed for reactions.

Convoluted into a simple common fraction

with the minority as the common denominator

beneath these facade phony advocaters

who now deny our educators

the voice of the future

so the children think like calculators.

 

The vision of mine and yours and his and theirs.

Hers and it's and it's is we and I and you and are we free?

The vision of our ancestors beg in plea

I'm starting to believe that even those founding this country

were just playing hopscotch with some Rothschild bourgeoisie

bargaining with the treasoned virtue

that now paints the walls of wealthy wallstreets and the cement beneath.

Killing bees with a sea of imperious greed.

Extincting trees.

Rooted.

 

Those mothafuckers think so.

These mothafuckers think that they sedate us

They can label mine and yours and his and theirs

hers and it's and it's is we a terrorist

cause this society is in need of a new damn therapist

feeding your kids prescription medications

while the president takes vacations

making universal standing ovations

pillaging parts of your planet

throwing your sons into the marines

fornicating the future of some funky facism

while this pregnant preteen meditates on society

trying to fight anxiety with the variety of

distractions programmed for our reactions

and the mighty privately question quietly

why shaved heads are shaved souls

patrolling with a goal while they finger us with gun control.

 

The revolution begins with the waking of our nation.

Not with the cremation of people

not with the mutation of our cells and when they rebel

you get chemo

put your body and then your mind on probation

 

the prize will be surprised when the lies are revoked

when the lies are seen and the genes are baptized and

recreated

no longer the design translated into a constellationed

foreign language

derived from snake eyes

 

I wouldn't advise the ill-advised

as they say

the revolution won't be televised.  

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
My country

Comments

jordan.kanemoto

Great Poem :) It sounds like a song Flobots would do.

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