Two Broken Wings

She walks by the window wearing the same old coat,

walking an even older Alsatian,

passing my way at least three times a day,

an unknowing symbol of our cyclical nation.

Slash it, burn it, rebuild it, repeat:

the feedback loop mantra of a global elite.

Unchallenged by the myopic shuffling of democracy’s feet

and supported by the narrow-minded, socially-blinded man on the street

 

who retreats to a room of financially inelastic,

mind-destroying, terminally annoying

pointless lumps of branded metal and plastic

that numb the pain and the shame

that the change we need is so dramatic and drastic

as to stray far beyond the borders of the mere iconoclastic.

 

There she goes again, walking by with no hurry.

This must be Groundhog Day but we’re not Bill Murray.

We’re represented instead by Needlenose Ned;

an unknowing adult forced to repeat the same insult,

the result of which is an assault on the intelligence by a dangerous cult

 

whose holy trinity consists of money, power and adulation

but it’s we the people doing the self-flagellation

by repeatedly giving them a standing ovation

for mutual masturbation and for dumbing down

a potentially great but ultimately failing nation.

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