Sunday, June 02, 2019

Static, a poem

Static

People following the latest fanatic,
giving up logic for the charismatic.
How can a country be democratic
when every radio is tuned to static?

Spend my nights with a super model,
drinking wine from a screw-top bottle.
Not holding back, we’re going full throttle,
talking ’bout Plato and Aristotle.

Talking all night, like artists in a garret,
pass the bottle ’round, we’ll share it.
Nothing out there we’re going to inherit,
never gonna win on our own merit.

American dream was another illusion,
rich have robbed us in our confusion.
Gonna run away, gonna live in seclusion,
won’t let the world be an intrusion.

Makes no difference, they’ll find a replacement
while you hide down in your basement;
never understood just what the rat race meant —
survival of the fittest, universal debasement.

Who’s gonna bring us all together,
a flock escaping this change of weather?
We’ll fly away like birds of a feather,
fly till we reach the end of our tether.

World today is cinematic;
need to make every scene dramatic.
Society’s oppression is systematic
but every radio is tuned to static.

Stephen Brooke ©2019

Yes, a bit of a nod to old school. Didn't know I had it in me, did you?

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