The pretty little girls
walking on the streets look so sad in this gold lined city.
Why is this so? Isn't this
the city of dreams,
The city where big dreams
and desires are fulfilled?
Yes, but it comes with a
price.
It’s a city that does
nothing at all, but takes all the credit.
It’s a place that promises
so much but offers so little.
Out-labeled, and
out-maneuvered,
There’s nothing left here
but the dreams of others.
Smiling faces gaze out
through the shop glass windows,
Faces that promise the
same façade as the dummies on display.
Consumerism, greed,
pretentious acceptance – they reek of it.
There’s money in the air,
ripe for the taking – just reach out and take it.
The hustle and bustle is
only pitch black smokescreen,
An elaborately crafted
diversion to rob the blind, to keep the cognizant content.
An army of marching ants
stuck in the routine of the daily drag.
Do they purposely serve,
or serve purposely?
They perceive freedom,
believe in freedom,
But are stuck like a rat
in a cage, pulling minimum wage.
Trading freedom of thought
and expression for freedom of routine –
A prison bathed in social
acceptance, glorified for its order.
Routine, consumerism,
self-indulgence – this, their true religion.
Chasing hollow jobs to buy
materialistic symbols of petty self-accomplishment.
Voices sing of success,
but eyes speak of doubt.
In an age of monetary
wealth, how wealthy is the soul?
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