I worry for a creature
One that calls itself wise
That needs to believe
Some ancient pack of lies
About timeless people,
Gods that can never die,
Though they are preposterous,
They fail to ask why.

I worry for a people who
In an age that conquers disease
Where we can educate ourselves
To do almost whatever we please;
Can turn night into the day
And speak across the many miles
Still chant their superstitious tales
About magic arts all the while.

It seems they are trained monkeys
Who push buttons for rewards
When spiritual independence
Could be their permanent award.
They thank the wrong saviors
For pulling us out of the slime
That has punished our people
Back since ancient times.

It was not ritual witchery
That gave our people freedom.
Instead it was seeing clearly,
Analysis, research and wisdom.
No blathering high priestess
With winged dragons to fight
Brought us medical cures, or
Radio and electric light.

Routine -- a dastardly habit fed
to control you, and your mind
give your body a boring rhyme
to dance to and not feel tempted

into the lands of chance and reason
letting you decide when to wake
when or how you take your break
because to trust your dedication is treason

and foolhardy, why they must train
you when to go to bed and when to wake
and of course how you should operate.
Oh all the things to teach your brain

but like bleeding out a poison, time
is always on your side, for nature
she likes things the way they were
your natural rhythm, denying it a crime!

That is her insight, as you sit awake alone
the clock ticking faster than before
the coming day a dreaded chore
your days spent sick now like a precious stone.

How is one supposed to go to sleep at night
when they know what comes with day
the hum drum, daily toil and you left to fray?
This is the story of man's modern plight.

Bitter shouting remedies
Wailing in the streets
Beggars wanting more than just
The crumbs off royal seats
Fancy ******* lunatics
Brainwashing people like twits
So ******* what
If I'm female
And want to ***** her ****?

Your mum wants to be remembered to you,
That you do not love any more your dad,
I know that you don't think,
With this fear which we suppose
If you do not comply her,
But don't worry,
I know it is heavy,
My boy, don't cry,
Dry up your sadness,
No, I don't blame you.
Listen your inner voice,
Time will proved us to be right,
And keep us close for ever.
I will always be there for you,
My son, wherever you are.
Someday you will understand better,
You will be free of your own choices,
And I know that this day,
We will be together as before,
With the pride and the happiness
which build our lives and more.

In a distant dystopia, it towers above all.
It radiates a dim blue glow, that
Transfixes eyes and minds alike.
Pulling with the gravity of 20,000 suns,
Its force cannot be rivaled.
An irresistible, iridescent abomination, and
An admonition unto the autonomy of thought.
Weaving tapestries of illusory illustrations,
Into the indigent intellect of its unsuspecticng viewers.
It's images penetrate the psyche like magic, as
Minds are manipulated into the madness, of
Mass consumption of manufactured "needs."
Its reporters replace reason with rhetoric, for
Objectivity is no obeject in an age of sound bites.
It demonizes difference, distracts, and desensitizes.
Apathy becomes queen, and facile pleasures become king.

Remember your vigilance.

There's so much praise and adoration,
Plaguing those across the nation.
But I can see what's behind that pained face:
Just rotted meat packed on a scorned disgrace.

Oh, what a wretched situation,
When to not be flawless breeds condemnation.
But when they're gone they won't leave a trace,
Just flesh-toned pastels and overpriced lace.

We must finally see there's no correlation,
'Tween real beauty and commercialization.
There might actually be hope for social grace,
When we all can see behind that painted face.