Entire countries are
brokered for profit, and shackled citizens live their last days on cold stairs
of majestic crystal castles.
The sick and elderly are
a burden overlooked by monuments of plastic laws, and murder is an austerity
measure for curbing anarchy.
Nuclear powered
heirlooms and radioactive homes spell a future of a tattered planet, where
thirst is quenched with fossil fuel and carbonated soft-drinks that cost arms
and legs of children maimed by landmines.
Fashionable lusts are
fed through palms of slave-toils of children, and what hope is there for the
unborn, whose bone marrow is being sapped for private health concerns of the
wealthy?
We can’t blame the
devil for the petrified landscapes depleted for obsessions of excess, for
automobiles burning holes in the ozone layer.
For even sorcery of
gains and waste, for nails glittering, for our gloss mannequin seedlings sent
to learn lust from magazines and universities that bleed then through debt to bankers
who trade in ‘days yet to become’.
Trawlers are marauding
oceans, drills gauging the earth’s belly while corporations ration the moon in
a scramble for new frontiers; earth is quaking in a final spasm of a dying
deity.
Yet we turn a blind
eye, for these horrors are born by our sordid breast puking itself out.
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