Can I ever live off the fruits of land?
Take the warm touch of nature’s hand.

Must I be technology, chips, and steel?
Things of economy that, burn, churn, and steal.

Do the designers that sell my clothes,
Make me.  Who am I?

Demons of being, seeing, and believing
Market enterprise has been oft deceiving

But mere words are the simplicity which we preach
Our beings are so dumbed, we can never reach.

The essence of “To be”, “to see” to feel.
Such murky waters slosh the human mind.

For to think, is to be, which was to be.
But moments pass like tides of sea.

History is but an idol that we praise,
Under an ortho-western’s gruesome glaze.

Deal with this, with what, with this false hue.
The voice that has replaced me, through and through.

Techno-gizmos suck the spirit of soul
While wanted goods harbor my control.

Cold as ice, but fate is nice, until it cant be stopped.
Like a nuclear missile, in denial of where it has been dropped.

The things you own, own you,
One by one, two by two.

I see my parents, my cousins, my hope,  
Sucking on the teat of TechNet’s dope.

Money is profit, without a soul.
Breaking and Breaking until we are too old.

But winter has come along with frost
That will not be analysis cost.

Everyday is a mission to sell, sell, and sell.
Until such sales soothe hell, hell, hell!

While I hope to inspire but just one mind,
Human sight has become blind.

Previous Page    Back to Horizons Spring 2007 Vol. 24    Next Page