Thursday, April 18, 2013

Fight for Bliss

Money, money, money
makes the world go 'round
funny, funny, funny,
how it keeps us bound

Trapped at the bottom
screaming to get up
there is no hand reaching out
without an invoice; tough

Tough, they say, if there aint' nothing
in your pocket
keep on trucking
or does one even have a truck?
or is one twisted and stuck; in the muck

The muddy pool of dirt and grime
due to the slime-bags
of the time
they feel nothing
they feel nil
they don't care
if you have a chill

People walking barefoot
chattering teeth
in the underworld so deep

Can't get out
not without a dime
must figure out a rhyme
to build the dimes

Allocate, maybe
like a rubix cube
to get out of the hole somehow
to crawl out through the tube

Narrow and icky
like a sewer hole
it does take a toll
crawling through, weak and injured

Like a soldier in the trenches...
and there ain’t no benches
so why not ask the "vermin"?
they might tell you clever tricks

For it’s how they dodge their foes
and scavengers don't buy their mix
however, they don't steal it either
they're programmed to survive
to hold on; climbing higher and higher
They grab scraps
save dimes in a hard drive

Plan it out like a map
pack your backpack
for the ride

Like reverse entrapment
like solving a riddle
of the rigged, oppressive pyramid
for in which many are little

So pay with the dimes
collected with mass effort
and make it so rhyme
with things one can do for free

Somehow, amongst the abyss
and one day in time
we will no longer miss
out on a chance at bliss

April 18th, 2013

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