The American dream
is only a dream -
a dream in which
the dreamer is obsolete.
For those who
both sleep and dream
in her streets,
America is a reality
too real to deny,
like a ladder too high
to be climbed,
like a bar too hard
to be bent.
And after each dollar
is spent,
after each shining diamond
find its way to a pocket,
the dream becomes
more and more a dream
that we become
less and less likely
to wake up from.

It is a wheel
rolling over you,
slowly,
letting you feel
it all, leaving you
lowly.
You'll be begging
it to stop,
dollars flying
from the top.
Those who turn the wheel
consider themselves holy.

A beggar begs for money
To afford his wants and needs
His helplessness looks funny
To some overgrown weeds
Once he owned so many things
Money became his greatest power
Pride and ego his greedy wings
Soon left him to beg in his last hour
The wise often say,
What goes around comes around
Coz karma has million eyes
It digs your deeds from underground
And makes you pay for your wealthy lies
On the streets, under the trees, over the bridge
His golden birds flew,
Sitting alone, wondering on the ridge
Remembering and recalling how he grew
A wealthy thief, who was unknown
Ripped off the poor with what they had
Now, his karma seems to have shown
Living, yet wishes he was dead...

©sim

If
  happiness
    was
      a
        cake,


I
  guess
    it
 ­     wasn't
        large
          enough
            to
       ­       go
                around.


Either
  that
    or
      so­me
        had
          been
            too
              greed­y.

Along the shore of the Allegheny River in Pittsburgh
a little girl of about seven, dressed in a track suit
threw chunks of bread to nearby ducks and geese.
The geese, twice the size of their mallard brethren,
aggressively pushed between the ducks
to gobble up each morsel.
The girl placed her hands on her hips
and scolded the winged despots for their greed.
A few of the ducks joined in the protest,
and quacked in solidarity, for justice.
The geese remained undeterred in their conquest.
Clearly frustrated, the little girl gave up.
She handed the bag of bread to her mother
and then ran off to join a group of older children
playing frisbee in a nearby grass field.
The ruling geese and the victimized ducks
continued to swim near the shore,
hungry and confused,
and without that reliable food source.

It's begins when one person
Treads across the ice
To get where they need to
But when others follow
The cracks begin to show
Then hidden by the falling snow

As more use this easier path
The cracks continue to form
But once one crosses
They could not care less
For those after them
Or for the cracks to come

Then one cracks is too many
And one falls in, then two
Then all begin to fall
And become lost in the depths
Of greed and desire
Because the other path was harder

Now all those who try to cross
Are stuck with nowhere to go
Because the path of hard work
Was lost to the snow
Temporary are the short cuts
Permanent are determination and guts