Fault Line

 Irony, is the whole world throwing it's hands up, saying:
"It's not my fault. I'm just one person. It's not my job."
Old men tell me it's a young man's fight—
Young men tell me "yeah, but, not right now",
So when young men grow old with unplanned strife,
We all know they're responsible, just not quite how.
Not MY problem—I just gotta live with it.
That's our motto for Monsanto and cancer,
while trying to hit the lotto, 'cause God's got no answer;
We'll choose not to acknowledge it…it'll cease to exist,
Like a top-dollar scholarship given, teaching the kids,
And the reason is this—bottomless pits are top of the list,
so we've got a skewed perception of what positive is,
and if each is a gift...lots of us have reason to live,
But diseases run free in what we keep in the fridge.
They're genetically modifying and fluoridating water,
Like an enemy occupying incorporated slaughter—
just to canonize a profit...and it's ironic, antibiotics—
are standardized topics—processed food products are complex, true.
Too often, the consequences are onset proof—
I guess God blessed common sense with nonsense, too.
Mass confusion, delusion and the human condition,
The illusion of choice, and all the stupid decisions—
made daily…pre-approved while using a system,
always systematically rerooting its use and description,
The truth…is a victim—living proof is soothing amusement,
A room with a view and a newer prescription,
assimilated and pacified…you were too intuitive,
always challenging things and asking why,
Screwing with consumers, often callousing dreams of passers-by—
Too elusive and thick-skinned…brooding and dissatisfied,
Insinuating conspiracy theories—a serious query is asinine,
thus bastardizing our situation, that information is…classified,
'til it’s pasteurized for public consumption—
Another conundrum as advertised.
With sacrifice in abundance, our other destructive appetites—
are plundering some blunder while under instruction of masterminds.
So it would seem...by our keen subservience.
A liar is a liar, and the buyers seem deserving if--
the preachers keep on preaching and the choirs keep from learning it.
Dire and disconcerting, it's...typecast as aggressive,
But the fires keep from burning when 'fight back' is a question.
Time just keeps returning it right back from the essence,
Repeating the same cycle...why ask an obsession—
if seeing the same sights'll bring life-lasting impressions?
We've always done it this way...pass the buck—
buy back a recession, and stifle the ones with something to say,
this ignorance is bliss...that's why we've never made it different for the kids.
That's why we’ll never take a risk for what it is—
Lest a Byzantine despot...they're not listening for thickening test-plots,
so give me liberty—or give me...Xbox, and magic assumptions.
All this pollution to look past the corruption,
So here's a solution—just don't ask if it functions,
we offer excuses, then go bask in our judgements.
Standing at the fault line, wasting our breath—
I’ll be placing my bets, it ain’t falling on you.
Damages and lost time, chasing our debts—
Always did what they said, ‘cause that’s…all we could do,
So God bless this ignorance…may it absolve the innocents—
for generations to come—it’s their problem…isn’t it?

Copyright © 2014 Travis J Gibbs, The Ant1-Her0 Project