This is not our Country

This is not our Country.

Where injustice is tolerated
in exchange for creature comforts
doled out by a heartless regime,
a faceless machine rolling in circles
carving a hole, digging a grave
burying deeper the shrapnel of our dreams,

Our sodden spines are worse than broken.
To be broken implies a strength that was fractured.
Our spines have gone soft. We are no longer upright.
We have devolved to lesser creatures,
turned away from civility by the fraudulent glimmer of “civilization.”

Is that what this is?

Are we “civil?” Is a police state civil?
Where the keepers of the peace shoot first?
And no one asks questions later?
Where daily brutalities against minorities
have become emblematic of our society?

Do you wave that flag?
Will we fight and die for it?
Should we be expected to when
it continues to fail us?

This is not our Country.

Where we no longer have
knowledge of
nor control over
where our leaders are leading us.

Where our votes are miscounted and discounted
until they are discontinued.
Where corporations control the media,
and the media controls our information,
and so we are only as informed as they allow us to be,

and the Freedom to Choose
is the greatest travesty ever perpetrated
upon an increasingly undereducated populace,

Because selecting between the two choices
proffered by an unseen hand;
Isn’t Choice.
We’ve only been manipulated to believe so.
We are under control.

It’s taken decades to achieve such rich complacency
and we are the ugly soil that only grows rotten crops

They sell our sickness back to us as gold
and we’re dying under the weight
blinded by the shimmer
starved by the lack of substance

either too confused to be scared
or too scared to ask the questions
which might break the frothing tide of turmoil.

Though this is not our Country,

there is still love.
I feel it from my sisters and brothers
struggling every day to wrench themselves

from the quick sand of serfdom,
credit interest rates eating away the edge,
rising rents and stagnant wages,
potholes and methodone clinics,
brick walls, bars, barbed wire,
scowls, fists, ignorance,
assaulted by all manner of adversity

and Never Giving Up.

For those of us who derive sustenance
by sharing what we have,
from never turning our backs,
from pouring all of ourselves
into the hope for a brighter future,
we retain an optimism
which is truly one of the most fertile gifts,
which grows the more it is sowed.

But there is a problem with seeing
the bright side get darker and darker,
losing its luster until the day we wake up
and the light has gone out
entirely.

Starving
is a threat of death and
it comes in
many forms.

I fear for the day
when we find ourselves
pushed into that corner
with no alternative to
a violent evisceration
from that dismal place.

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About brokeMC

Artist: Graphic Design, Audio Production, Photo and Film Production and Editing, Painting, Writing, and all other manner of creative indulgence. and my moonwalk is ill.
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