*

Upon this speck,
spinning in space,
lost in a game,
all about face.
Social status,
illusionary success,
clouded by torrents,
sprung from internal distress.

What does it mean,
to be raised a machine?
Work for your country,
slave for the state,
All the while men & women,
loving a lie,
living disguised,
far too filled with fear,
to have the time,
to truly realize,
That they raise us as slaves,

the hierarchy,
bureaucratic-patriarchal-ruling-elite,
work for your money,
that don't mean a goddamn-significant-fucking-thing,

so while the walls,
of our empire fall,
masses still plugged in,
just watching it all...

what then, when its in the streets?
when shoprite doesn't get its shipment of precious deli meats?
when the distressed, fear-depressed,
run hungry through the streets?

The virtuous will hold true,
the light shinning of few,
bringing many,
bringing masses to the truth.
Bring us all closer,
To You.