This one feels ill-equipped to deal with it all
that one cannot not deal with anything large or small
some just love to dance
piano play, music sing
spectacle watch
video game dream
driven
not understanding sometimes
who is hammer and who is nail;
giant hands looming
reaching into your mail box
jobs lacking
families cracking
souls squeezing
society gone
mafia
banks gangster
asset grabbing
vulture institutions
citizen blood-sucking
the free, isolated individual
reeling;
some sighing
comforted by
false comforts:
"I am prettier than most
I am richer than most
I am smarter than most
I am more moral than most
Here I am guaranteed my tattered ego
always better than the down-trodden and the last
guaranteed at least
that my crushed ego survives
among the least regarded
all life is comparative no?
This is life as the acceptable illusion
we have of being better than some others.
We coddle our illusions
our watered-down freedoms
taken back
by shadowy hands
drifting
in secret hovels
some quiver
seeking only to save their sanity
ignoring our neighbors cringing humanity
feeling powerless
ours to only complain
but not too loudly
our bedrock
voices stilled
or our voices sing too loudly
trying to hold back the dark
soothing ourselves
mouthing
"while we are not perfect
we are are better off than most
"we should be thankful"
we heard said
too many us
don't appreciate
what's been built
what‘s been achieved;
too many seek to squander
unaware of the golden past
when men were men
and women were women
and made marriages last;
if the future is without these
without the things I love" he said
"then bring to me the End Times
a future still born
for the present is pasty bleak
I condemn it to hard times and jail
debt jail will make things safe
for the things I love.
Perfection has died in my world
murdered by rancid change
the once perfect
exiled;
shield me and mine
from the grinding present
the taint of future coming
never mind
the polluted water
never mind the mindless profits
never mind souls wandering
make them not notice my passing
never mind a planet dying
clearly now my faults will not save us.
Sequester me
as I coddle my cash
cling to my notions
of a golden past
condemning that
which deserves
not
their own present
even as they are blind
to my perfect notions
of my perfect past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
trying to hold back the dark, very good, I like it.