Mother America

I am did feed thy milketh

Her breasts were consumed with youth.

A preliminary smile that inspired a nation yet to be conceived.

The blood shed of capitalism left Columbus within the ruptured greed in the labor of history.

The social Integrity rose to a calculated profit:

012-500-000 slaves turned into lathered ash and oil machines,

500,000,000,000 dollars of total currency turned the colonies into a joint business for years.

 

Founding Father

Benjamin, to be frank, published the News.

The fine print was faking all the flourishing details,

The parchment was employed into the machine industry.

The disowned and emancipated children of American filling the paper press.

Elbow grease and diseased dinners dangled in front of the insignificant seeds as an incentive to be good swimmers.

The social Integrity piled till it stacked towards the front pages:

000-033-500 citizen’s inboxes were unread with messages from our Father’s whores.

987,000,000,000 dollars of currency publicized to the bills from the utility stores.

The deadbeat Founding Father, with the mundane media membrane, left his children unsanitized.

 

God blessed America,

Our Home sweet home with luxury chrome cars.

The blood of our unrelated cousins married the gas tank to ensure our home would go far.

Puns, by the tons, written to be submitted.

To guarantee us the 000-001-000 dollars for a broken education system left acquitted.

190,000,000,000,000 dollars of unpaid mortgage flew, with left and right wings,

Migrating towards the American dream.

 

I remain uneducated of my home turf.

My money justifies my family’s alienated economic return.

And within my enslaved and oiled papers that laid as hand-me-downs,

My Social Integrity Number: given to me at birth.

 

I am to work for my college by park ridge,

Cry bland tears to reimburse the money for the vehicle’s mileage.

Silently praying for God to rise and rescue us from damnation

Whilst asleep, I lead the lamb into our Nation.

Not an Islamic scapegoat to allow hatred to grow.,

Not a ploy to cause wall street to blow,

Not a conspiracy to de-root the fall's unknown.

 

But a small Mother to whom the dishonored hoped for,

An imprisonment for the media’s whores

The emancipated abolishment of the tiresome American chore.

 

But the lamb does not look as we do.

The lamb speaks of a unified truth.

The moral ethic is too good to be.

Another dream left into doom on account of lack of belief.