Marcy

What happens to us as people,
If we make life mean less and less,
It’s all about the dollar bill,
And our chase to attain success,
Our goals as a society,
Seem now to just want blame,
While within the notoriety,
Are the carrots money and fame.
 
 
We pretend to know all the answers,
Our stupidity televised on tv,
As Uncle Sam whispers in our ears,
You’re free if I tell you to be,
Do we see the writing,
That’s written on the walls,
Death is not a stranger,
When in the news it calls.
 
 
Doing right is now unimportant,
We all have our skeletons to bear,
As good sense whispers to us,
But no one wants to hear,
None of us are perfect,
Are we in some hidden dream,
But does the dream have a price,
The blood that flows in streams.
 
 
Death happens daily,
Right now we blame it on the gun,
Are agendas what we rely on,
In a race that’s never won,
We opened doors so long ago,
That we can’t see we’ve slammed them shut,
Listening to words we’re forced to hear,
While ignoring the ominous feeling in our gut.
 
 
Death is something that should come,
As a product of old age,
Not instituted by the thought,
We need an outlet for our rage,
We’re forced to hear the notion,
We should strive for fortune and fame,
Making life an afterthought,
As chasing dreams becomes a game.
 
 
Your neighbor might have all those things,
That you’ve told yourself you want,
But happiness lives inside a heart,
Not in the desires that haunt,
More or less really means nothing,
What you have is what you’ve got,
And love is sure a precious thing,
Though it seems that fact we forgot.

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Barb Clarke
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