We have created a hell on Earth. Most of us remain blinded to its firey prison, but it’s here. Most of you reading this are probably only in the outer circle of hell, not the very center of the agony. You may have to work 8–10 hrs a day at a job you hate to pay your mortgage, but you have a house. You may worry that you won’t have enough to leave your kid when you die, but your kid eats three meals a day, has people to love it and people to teach it. You think your life doesn’t have much point, but you get enough joy in the few hours you get to spend with your friends and family to keep you ticking. You may medicate heavily with alcohol, pot or pharmaceuticals, but all in the name of unwinding, relaxing, kicking back. Yes, this is only the outside circle of hell.
What troubles me is the lack of empathy.
What dire straights can make you see
The clock ticking, tense as drawn bow?
Perched high, the winners (you and me specifically)
Must make the moral choice.
Be giants, hearts large.
Our bounty fills closets and houses and pods,
Is staggering, world-around.
We covet behemoth dwellings full with wasted space.
Our fatness, a sickness
(not of genes, of mind).
Our jaws working the slicks and fakes down our throats to numbness.
The dump is tragic.
The towers of trash make me blush without a smile.
They should you, too.
What do you do when you are part of the problem?
Three to infinity, change.
Reverse the contraction of your blood pumper and make
Stone facades to sheer.
Love all people.
Like a few, too.
Make the hard, heart-choice.
Think bigger, all Earth, all Universe.
Or it ends here—swollen, lazy, careless, selfish. Desolate.
With no room at the inn for those that lack paper wallets.
But meanwhile, outside the inn,
Our lives? The Earth? The air? The water?
Gift, gift, gift, gift.
Food sprouted from fertile ground?
Did you earn a single one?
Your birth, your breath? The seed that feeds?
Bounty for all, for you, for me?
Beware the illusions.
Beware your special status as earner.
You’ve earned only money to pay,
Money to pray to things created from gifts.
That’s why it’s not working.
Not supposed to sell a gift.
Why don’t you listen to your Mother?
She speaks in logic and love.
Wailing, 40 trillion in debt!
But to who? To whom may I repay this?
The Universe, that’s who.
And it doesn’t want your money.
History is written by tragedy
And it maintains ugly secrets of intimacy
And struggles which nations ingest.
Covered in blood, we wept.
When one in a million is dark
And nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand are broke,
The upshot is guess who writes history?
The upshot is guess who will not?
A soldier will fight to the death.
And raggedly take his last breath,
For oil or land, the American Brand.
Now bodies lie still in the sand.
What are we doing? Who taught us to do this?
Ah, resources are scarce, we must get ours!
But we were told we were attacked, we must have honor and pride!
Stand by your country, lay down by it’s side!
But let me tell you a secret—
Borders mean nothing and are created by men,
Created by history
By those who would win.
And there’s nothing to win by fighting your brother,
Nothing you win by watching him suffer.
The real winner sits tight with his fat bank rolls,
While you, hollowed men, feel inside you go cold.
“United we stand, divided we fall”—
Let’s take that and apply it to world, to all.
Would you rather Earth perish in blood and destruction?
Or save it together at this critical junction?
Don’t glorify war, you fat-wallet assholes,
And say if we don’t, we’re unpatriotic.
Don’t see your limbs blown off in the field
Your haunted eyes afflicted with PTSD.
War is a racket, a divisive racket,
Used to put pride in the metals on your jacket.
But fighting for peace is an oxymoron.
Only peace brings peace and a greater tomorrow.
The history books say that this the way,
They fall open to pages of white men going gray.
Those books don’t talk of the time in between
When regular people lived regularly.
Our first motivation is to help and to hold
Not bloody our neighbor, not bomb his whole world.
Don’t let them sell you the lie of bad men
That were recorded to prove that we all live in sin.