(part XVI)
Inside the walls
Within Safety
Culture began to believe
In the Gods
Who used words like Science
To spread their propaganda
They spoke half truths
Withheld full truths
In their subtle manipulation
That was calculated
And projected
And timed
And crafted.
I am angry at the Americans
For making the world one big party
And leaving all their spending
Polluting our fields of plenty
I am angry at the Chinese
For building these resorts
For walking down the streets
Disrespecting different cultures
I am angry at Canada
For lying to with a smile
Rolling out the red carpet
Though the green flag flies high
I am angry at the Petrols
For neglecting human health
For letting all these diesel fuels
Spilling into atmosphere
I am angry at the Youth
For not taking hold the change
For not demanding to know better
Though they stand up for pop cult
I am angry at the Voices
Speaking so strongly inside
Obviously in rhythmic lies
I am angry at the Religious
Who say their faithful
Are more right and devout
Who align their one clear path
Though they preach unanimous love
And acceptance for all those left
I am angry at Myself
For not knowing how to stand
Though I see clearly my knees
That rest here in the shade
I’ve been thinking to distance myself from the truth,
A constructed perception feeding off culture
Who knows the same truths.
I’m not there.
I tied my shoes and went for a walk
Along a winding trail and past calling birds.
But I am filling up with distractions
That keep me from my all in,
My wild abandon that no longer fears.
So I will sit still and run off my mind
And let happy dancers play their sweet music
That washes over my eyes closed vision.
Our political agendas are nauseating.
They’re stuffed so full of capital letters
That the underlying messages of our society –
Hell, even our cultures,
Are suffocated with exhaust stacks and bottom dollars.
If I could have dreamed up a Heathenistic Hell,
I’d put city roads and destruction for progress
Right at the top of that scorched list.
I’d decree land had suddenly become a commodity
We could sell simply because we had a gun that said we could.
Just like young adults unable to find their righteous paths,
Explicit lyrics contaminating the innocent minds,
My Hell would be a prescribed better way, mothers.
Did you feel my heart as it’s ripped out every single day
When land mines help fight swollen populations,
Planted in a war to help save lives?
War to not war! Fight fire with fire!
And in my Hell, in my political agenda I call my country,
I would give us hope, every.single.day.
We would wake up to the smell of progress
And desire to capture it in any way possible
So that it could be shared with anybody we knew.
We would mutually feel good about the loss of our trees,
Because our heads were buried so deep in our electricity
Where we were collectively dreaming about
Ways to continue our progress.
For my simple pleasure I’d have dandelions everywhere
As symbols of true health and prosperity.
I’d pull up my old lawn chair, warm beer in hand,
And watch as all the sinners pulled out their organic chemicals
To spray the evil yellow root to death.
On the cold days when there were no death machines
I’d read my botanical books and let the rain
Wash tears into my Hell.
For me this is the saddest thought of all,
Because in spite all my attempts to rectify ignorance,
I would be a black seed living in my own true Hell.
I would be a puppet, inspired to raise my voice
And told that I do mean something to this Hell.
There I’d be, red faced eating my poisoned earth,
Handed another blank Party card
And told why I should be excited.
