Elitist wants the world bent at his ever fattening waist. I’m better then you yet you think your richer then I. A telescope reaches an eye to the stars, but eyes grow weary of sights so far away. Hearts, crashed into a hoopla of fast talking salesmen
by Adam Holmes
The feet wait to walk
Preacher sells the good of god, and the atheist steals it right back.
They are both taxed by eyes of innocence. Forgetful of this, the talking never quits. Living a life of nonsense makes the most. Thinkers stumble on their minds mended steps.
Snooty sports car driving suburbanites, oblivious to a world that’s dying. Blame them for nothing. At least they’re living. Sulking hillbilly sits in his shack. The sound of solitude sits well in his soul for a second or two. Material world passed him by. Prideful and polite, he asks for nothing while he milks his tears. A jar half full goes for less.
And the air still accepts breath
A lullaby lolls the child to sleep. Places of paradise dance in her dreams. Subconscious visions wander round looking for reality, as the clock strikes twelve, a college kid struts into a bar. Looking to make a girl as he sips his drink. Practicing lines working out flaws. Sometimes snazzy speak yields outstanding result.
Carpenter works wonders with his hands. An illusion of luxury and ease is all a wealthy man sees. Hammer and nail reload and repeat. Hours are logged, sweat is spilt, and the child asks when daddy is coming home. Chained to money and ignorant of its grasp. The men in the mountains are the only ones free. Live off the land like the wolf the bear the elk. Hook tied to line tied to pole and the salmon are running. He is fat in his log cabin mansion.
I lick my lips in thought
Big screen idiot you’re so vain. Comedy in conformity yet we do the same. Textbook lifestyle living, do what the proper folks say don’t end up like those fools.
A finger points to the mountains
And my eye is stuck on the telescope