American Haiku
"It's called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it."
-George Carlin
I see a people falter.
Their pillar crumbles
from its roots.
False destiny cries out.
Its hoarse voice echoes
as others cease to listen.
The bell rings again today.
Its damning dirge knells
tortured deaths of dreams.
Broken leaders blast the air.
Currencies of choice reveal
such soulless sounds.
Papier-mâché prophets drink tea.
Angry actors tilt
at tinny targets.
The belligerent block bridges.
Protectors and servers
beat them bloody.
Money dances through the sky.
It chooses chancey partners
as masses sink thorugh sewers.
Suffering throngs salt souls on city streets.
Laughing, others leave lone graves,
Glad to whisper jokes and gaze away.
Wasting wars wage on.
Fast like freight trains rushing downhill,
unstoppable, the conflicts crush up corpses.
Music rings around the rose.
Barter bears the broken
into global black holes.
Skeletons grin everywhere.
No one cares enough
To bury the bones.
Skulls wash up on soulless shores.
Sailors watch sodden seasides
for tides that don't arrive.
Those aware behold blindness.
The unaware see only glittering city lights
Sparkle above carloads of carcasses.
Within, many shout "All is mine."
They consign to hopeless hell
all those without.
A plague pillages the land.
Those untouched put on pinkish glasses
and only hear of health.
Will judgment come?
The judge now sleeps
Only to wake too late.
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