Disintegrated Culture In America (POEM)

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Disintegrated Culture In America (POEM)

“Oh, to touch the sky and master it,

I am god.

Mere mortal but through prowess,

I dominate.

Call me aristocrat,

Call me banker class,

Call me anything,

But do NOT call me,

Human.

I am the disengenius.

I profit off of all of you.

The technocracy

Is my web.

Money is my trap.

And you are my victim,

Dear one.”

Oh, spews the mindset,

Rattling through echo chambers

Of the wretched 1%.

Oh how they shake their ivory tower torches,

All waxed in ritual pomp and circumstance.

While light refects off the walls of the echo chambers

They’ve built and now have boxed themselves within.

All why Americans look around in disarray.

Seeking meaning in a disintegrated culture

That is now America.

In the background behind the abyss something stirs.

Wendell Berry’s poetry peaks through black curtains,

Speaking right before the night’s final act.

While “it is all just (kabuki) echo chamber theater” they say,

Urging us all to simply look on and follow the play.

But, his words are like a small fissure.

Soon becoming a gaping crevasse.

Tearing at this fabric that is everything!

The Mad Farmer steps out onto the stage saying,

“The economy of money,

Has infiltrated and subverted,

The economies of nature,

Energy,

And, the human spirit.”

And there we have the truth.

With a resounding hush, the curtain falls.

The audience has witnessed the greatest plot twist of all time.

The puppet masters, revealed,

Stand there bare, naked and exposed.

With not a black curtain to hide behind any longer.

The audience agasp asks,

Who ARE you people in black cloaks pulling strings?

Like a devils chorus the black cloaks reply,

Not so much sheepishly, but no longer in sheeps clothing.

“We are the one percent.

Call me aristocrat,

Call me banker class,

Call me anything,

But do NOT call me,

Human.”

~ L. Davis, #thepoetfarmer

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A poem I wrote this evening as I ponder the moral bankruptcy that permeates so much of American power today.  Wendell Berry is a poet who has a character the Mad Farmer who is a voice of reason in an unreasonable world.  In an article in Christianity Today it stated, “Berry is the rare writer and activist who can’t be claimed by a single party: beloved by the right for his localist pro-family traditionalism and the left for his localist anti-corporate activism, Berry’s writings—which make an unswerving case for a return to the farm, the family, faith, and all that is traditional and local.”  Obviously, in this poem I use the Mad Farmer to be yet another voice of reason in the final stages of America’s decline in a hope that the greatest plot twist in human history can take place – a redefinition of economics and economies to value the human spirit, nature, and God over power and greed.

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