What makes you what you are
Is not how they see you
Is not how they treat you
What makes you what you are
Is not how they place you
In places of confinement, of wrong pegs
In unappreciated and spit-on places
Where is that magic land of milk and honey?
Where is it?
And how do you obtain it?
The United States is about to fall
Cities of the Red Night
Have to take over
The smoldering ashes of bureaucracy
Insolvent banks
Need more solutions
Are you refusing to hear the question?
What a fine mess of things!
The people are the future
Because the leaders gave up the punchcard
America already went through the French Revolution
Will this be another?
The future looks scary and grim
No hope for the dye that’s cast
Cliché outcomes
What hope is there when the forecast of the future is uncertain?
What’s the point?
To be what you are?
When there’s nothing left?
How important can it really be?
Cliché questions, devoid of original thought
Answers, with no clue to fix
The Place of Dead Roads is getting ancient old
Methuselah calls
Says, ‘What’s wrong with pussy? And dick?’
What’s wrong?
A stitch in time eventually breaks the same rhyme
Do something different this time!
Sick of the fall of Rome!
Sick of the fall of Troy!
Sick of the fall of Greece! Of Athens! Of Sparta!
Sick of the fall of civilization stretched out to thousands and thousands of years!
Do something different this time!’
The stock exchange is tired, needs a change
A fulcrum without a proper dictum
The desert yearns for rain
Repression storage
The air conditioned nightmare
Where everything is conditioned
Through patriotic air filters, no shelter from the hill
Where little talking pages become bills
And people, walking people, incessant talking
Of weather, of what’s in fashion
On their way to become bills on capitol hill
Is that what you are?
Is that the alternative?
A face stands out of the crowd and laughs at the future’s plight
A poet that gets to the point
The people know where the wind blows
But the poet laughs and has a spring in the step
Pep in the pants
But what of the dry sands of the Wasteland?
What of the grim outlook?
But that’s not the inlook!
That’s not what makes you what you are!
That’s not the poet!
The world is shared with the I
The I of your I
But finding it, finding it, how to find it?
How to find your own rhyme, your own voice?
It’s a choice! It’s a choice!
And the decision is left
To decide to pursue
A new path, a new way, a way around
How they see you
How they treat you
How they place you
A way around
The future
Because
None of that
Makes you
What you really are
What the future really is
That’s up to you
To decide
DanCarvalloSays 