Corporate Pirate Of Manhattan
© Surazeus
2018 05 29
The American Man in suit and tie
falls from the glass tower of prestige and power
struck by lightning of the financial war
nine days and nights on broken wings of hope.
More than once in the long drama of his life
he plays the fool in tales of other people
till he steals the crown from the jester king
and directs his own tragedy of wealth.
He builds the heaven of his family home
on the skulls of workers in factories
who read about his parties in the paper
and drink the beer he sells them for a dollar.
Driving sleek gold Cadillac in red rain,
he parades to his castle in Manhattan
to drink the blood of farmers in rich wine
and smoke the money his investments earn.
Standing at the window of his huge office,
he gazes at vast maze of shining towers
and ponders his rise from the small farm town
to reign as king of fools in tower of gold.
Calling quick brokers on the telephone,
he buys and sells stocks in small companies
then sells their assets to profit from loss
and fires people who worked there all their lives.
Despondent at his tactics of brute force
acquiring wealth from corporate piracy,
he drives cross country down long winding roads
into the waste land of his aching heart.
He joins the commune in the coastal hills
to drop acid and meditate in light,
dreaming evolution from sperm to god,
and dances naked among trees in rain.
Seeking redemption for his corporate greed,
he volunteers to cook at homeless shelters,
then meditates in the tree where he lives
and talks philosophy with chirping birds.
The American man in robe and sandals
walks among ruins of prestige and power
to chant peaceful mantras and tend the flowers
that grow from the graves of people he fired.
© Surazeus
2018 05 29
The American Man in suit and tie
falls from the glass tower of prestige and power
struck by lightning of the financial war
nine days and nights on broken wings of hope.
More than once in the long drama of his life
he plays the fool in tales of other people
till he steals the crown from the jester king
and directs his own tragedy of wealth.
He builds the heaven of his family home
on the skulls of workers in factories
who read about his parties in the paper
and drink the beer he sells them for a dollar.
Driving sleek gold Cadillac in red rain,
he parades to his castle in Manhattan
to drink the blood of farmers in rich wine
and smoke the money his investments earn.
Standing at the window of his huge office,
he gazes at vast maze of shining towers
and ponders his rise from the small farm town
to reign as king of fools in tower of gold.
Calling quick brokers on the telephone,
he buys and sells stocks in small companies
then sells their assets to profit from loss
and fires people who worked there all their lives.
Despondent at his tactics of brute force
acquiring wealth from corporate piracy,
he drives cross country down long winding roads
into the waste land of his aching heart.
He joins the commune in the coastal hills
to drop acid and meditate in light,
dreaming evolution from sperm to god,
and dances naked among trees in rain.
Seeking redemption for his corporate greed,
he volunteers to cook at homeless shelters,
then meditates in the tree where he lives
and talks philosophy with chirping birds.
The American man in robe and sandals
walks among ruins of prestige and power
to chant peaceful mantras and tend the flowers
that grow from the graves of people he fired.
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