Primetime TV is asinine; Intellectual cyanide. Empty like a home in Palestine, And corrosive like an alkaline: It's the software for the poor. Subliminally shutting your doors Of perception, While they pump the town full of more -- More liquor stores And two cent ******, Deadbolted doors Adorned with gang graffiti Where the government ignores. So how can I sleep When all these kids never eat? And where's the sweeps For the bodies in the streets? They'll just pour more concrete Over our homes. Gentrified zones, Minorities in tow. High interest loans. Money's dried up, Foreclosure and drones Dropping tear gas on the protesters; Arresting anyone not in their homes Please tell me, how can I atone For the sins of a system That riddles the world with victims? This is the modern vista The ghetto is everywhere The aftermath of an affair Between the elite And their federal clientele. Predatory lending, Bailouts, drop outs, A culture without. Humanitarian drought. Where's the empathy? The love? The care and clemency? A solution for this endemic peasantry? Man, I wish I knew. I wish the numbers weren't true, And I wish the sunrise brought a nice view, Instead of billboards and condemned buildings, Abandoned homes, potholes, ****, and trash: The ashes of a golden age long past.
This is actually more of a rap/lyrical flow than a poem. I recommend reading it as if it has a beat.