Sometimes I feel like a native soul
Reincarnated to speak peace
Of the land that was stolen.
Is this life just an illusion;
Obscure confusion In a
Consumerist ghost town?
An infinite soul  misplaced
In a nightmare of large structures;
Economic crises among endless
Advertisements;
Surrounded by detractors paving dollar bills,
Sitting Eager, and capitalizing on blistering the
Values of peoples seen as aggressive
To their covert agenda.
A nations indulgent corporate thrills that
People like you and I
Continue.
Along cycles of fear and avarice,
It appears that
We worship our debt.
(And that's unfortunate)
We celebrate the dysfunction of an elaborate and
Cheap construction surrounding
False gods of greed and repression;
And blame some scape-goat for our problems.
Stalked by repressive Caesar's so
Shapeless on naked
Walls;
I looked a little deeper and saw their
Hearts were black. (as oil)
The poison is the promise of
Security-stability-quiet-
Peace of mind- living but
Why must we equate material things with meaning?
Why do we buy pesticide apples In stores that fall from the trees?
Should I leave easy and
Never look back? Maybe
It is time to move on
No need for pauses or applause;
Some land where piles of memories become the
Prosperity that
Money could never purchase.