| May 26, 2006 untitled (a poem) by Brian Anderson, insurgent49 a joyful song rests within me yet no matter how I shout I am lost to it a mouse without a scent of smell these walls they close in around me so that I am caught screaming, spinning, and lost no closer am I than if I were an owl deaf hungry and searching such mice within my vision they laugh and play and I am lost such is America so beautiful we pledge of ourselves diversity and unity for all freedom pouring from our lips and yet no rhyme or reason do we call forth giving billions to a leaky bucket yet how do we plug it dear liza, dear liza for our children are being left behind pushed away from brilliant teachers without a penny to their names so jobless homeless they march unable to afford the cheapest goods at the largest stores so roll back your dollars don’t roll back your sleeves we are a consumer society how dare we produce for dirt under our fingers is ever so unsightly our blue blood wouldn’t dare life our fingers to a machine we sit in our castles upon our hills pushing a button not lifting a foot feeling isolated and alone yet instant words give us comfort as we forget the song in our hearts as we put a flat digital screen between us and the world for the world is a computer game without a save button forever spinning onward and onward until one day no more song joyful or otherwise |
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| Copyright
2005
Insurgent Media. All Rights
Reserved. in-sur-gent (in sur'jent), n. 1. a member of a group which revolts against the policies of its leadership. |
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