Alfred Barna


Turning Away - Poem by Alfred Barna

We shout in rage; payments to the poor
Dangling dependency upon a thread
Yet the bribes to/from the bankers we ignore
And enormous bonuses to them are fed
In truth they are no better than low class thugs
Like the Corporations that they support
No cure, just manageable with profitable drugs
Are the norms of the system that they purport
True open markets died in 1913
As Wilson attested to in his books and notes
Everyone who knows what I mean
If not New Freedom will supply the quotes

Turning away
From what has kept us together
Turning away
From what has lead us through the weather
Turing away
No church, no home, family, just a cold shoulder to cry on
Turning away
Virtual unsympathetic wastelands to die on

There will never be a workers paradise
It's cheese lying within a maze
Once you awaken; we think like mice
Operant conditioned for a craze
Your life, your job, your home, your breath
If only you had loved your neighbor as your own
Now committees managing, steering you to your death
If we shared humanity might have grown
We might have tasted a bit of Eden here on Earth
Had we not the greed to become as gods ourselves
Instead we have grown cold from our birth
Any other ideas we placed upon dusty shelves

Turning away
From what has kept us together
Turning away
From what has lead us through the weather
Turing away
No church, no home, family, just a cold shoulder to cry on
Turning away
Virtual unsympathetic wastelands to die on

If the art of war is but deception
Then peace must contain the truth
Like Madam B's Theo inception
They believe, we must be lied to from youth
Like stealing honey from the honest bees
Giving them GMO sugar water in return
They will do with us, just as they please
Confident we shall never learn
History is always repeating
All the old lies work to their cause
Humanity is their goal in defeating
With each phase, they have no pause

Turning away
From what has kept us together
Turning away
From what has lead us through the weather
Turing away
No church, no home, family, just a cold shoulder to cry on
Turning away
Virtual unsympathetic wastelands to die on


Poet's Notes about The Poem

The American Republic will endure, until politicians realize they can bribe the people with their own money.

- Alexis de Tocqueville

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, February 1, 2014

Poem Edited: Saturday, February 1, 2014


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