FLOT Con Text Blog

Welcome to Flot-Con Text: a blog where I release my newest poetry since and as of twentyten. Enjoy! Peace!
Sam Flot

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

The American Dream


The American Dream
by Sam Flot
-
The underground is presenting a united front
Against the smoky burning skies
Of the crumbling foundation of the fantasy called
The American Dream

Calling all the dreamers
To the forefront of awareness
Signifying change in the pattern we created
Are creating
Will create
Change in the pattern and
Ripples in the pond
From the middle rippling outward
Sending the message in waves repeating

We all stand strong
We all stick to message
We all stand in the rubble
Of the crumbling burnt basement and
We all stand tall when
We look into the mirror and
Reflect on the days we believed in picket fences
On the days we believed we could make ourselves a living
On the days we believed what they told us
We could have it all
And
We can and we do
But it isn’t in the houses and
It isn’t in vacation homes
It isn’t in the comfort of a cottage with a mortgage
When the mortgage comes due and
The refuge is reduced to a house not a home and
The sleepers keep on sleeping and
The dreamers never wake up and
The dream goes on
Ruining generations of hopers
Bent on the good life
Wearing the labels and
NOT driving their own cars
But the buck has stopped back there and
The alarm clock never went off and
America slept in late

Dreaming and thinking it was
Fulfilling on some kind of retribution
Aimed at the assumptive suspects and

We never even got a chance to think about forgiveness and
We never even got a chance
To think about NOT fighting back and
We never ever got a choice and

The whole entire time
They told us
The whole entire time
They sold us  
On a dream that was a nightmare

Left us trembling and scared to face the future unprepared
They told us of a dream that could only happen here
They sold us on a nightmare of paranoid fear

But the underground’s united
On the front of the horizon
Sorting out the leftovers
Waking up late
To no job and no chance
Staying up all night making music
To which we dance

Flot
10.24.ten

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