Writings

End of the Start

 

I wonder about the place where I live,

They call it Plateau-pia, I’ll make clear as to why:

Nothing affects us; we seem to get through it all,

Everyone and all things positioned so way up high

 

And if it does exits now, I wonder for how long this is so.

I am living on there, in there; it is I who take part,

In the finance, economy, politics that storm on,

Running, racing to the end of the start.

 

Ironically, we are on a plateau, bounded by some cliffs,

With views to the Mountain, hills, the water below.

A place that all strive for, to live all along,

When childhood was, and did not better know.

 

In front of me more acres of rooflines, shingles galore

These were once trees that had no choice

But to become coverings for lives that are now here

Seemingly empty, vacant, no voice.

 

Foreign, fast and sleek, busy rolls past,

Ten for every US made one.

Import, make it, import; bring it all on.

Love for the ease of it all, not those who have none.

 

Make exit to places of steel and abstract,

We leave behind children to learn at places of best.

All different kinds, look to their own well doing.

Bearing trees of odd, false to the test.

 

It is true, written, a recent income report declared:

Plateau-pia has plenty, more than enough,

We are in the lead, ahead of everyone.

This is a dreamland, just clouds full of stuff.

 

We think the pockets all full and jingling, aware,

Will be sufficient to long out last the predicted doom.

Pointed, warned, LOOK OUT it is just right there!

Pushing closer to lasting no more, running out of room.

 

I am sad to know, what was started so long ago,

May be nearing its end, aspiring now in vain.

Faith, family, freedom for all.

Majority has been replaced, destiny has been named.

 

The one in the lead

The highest of all

Why do I want to be here?

The first and farthest to fall.