Storm

Phobia and Paranoia grow

In ignorance's field,

And hatred, anger's bitter throe,

Like anxious lament, revealed.

In houses turned to narrow cages,

Bloom weariness and glare,

Your mind now races, warily engages,

The TV screeches there.

You feed on images, a dire feast,

On barren, fruitless zones,

You plant your children in the least

Of lands—where falsehood owns.

You’ll go on holiday, depart

To live two lives, they say,

You’ll watch the ads before the start,

Before you go away—

But first survive, and then erase

The debts you can’t adjourn,

And don’t forget to leave no trace—

Turn off the oven’s burn.

A life laid flat, a toaster’s slice

On barren, arid ground,

The day is dark, and not as nice

As fancy may have crowned.

Nature now foams in deep despair,

The world spins like a wheel,

The scent of money fills the air,

The trees are stripped, they feel.

Humanity the hunted prey,

And failure, stark and real,

And cooperation’s gentle way

Would seem a joke’s appeal.

In the final calculation’s light,

You craved the rival’s fight,

You sowed the seeds of capitalism’s blight,

Now reap addiction’s night.