The machine
The world is run by people who do not care. They do not care about the misery they create. They do not care if their profits are based on exploitation, starvation and despair. They do not care if their methods leave instability, war and chaos. They simply do not care.
All they care about if the bottom line, how to earn more and maximize their profits.
It helps if there is chaos. It helps if there is inequality. There is a market to exploit. Desperate people take lower wages. The powerful require protection. There are weapons to be sold.
These people provide the funds for our politicians. They own our media. They lobby the government. Without their support the politicians are unelectable. They control the system.
They control the money markets that are the blood our economies. Without their investment we become bankrupt.
The control the price of commodities and manipulate the markets without regard to the misery that might be created.
The world is run by a machine of faceless, uncaring, selfish, greedy men who are simply doing business.
There is enough to go around.
There is a better way of organizing the world.
It does not have to be like this.
We could solve all the problems and make it fairer.
But we are driven by the desire to be one of them.
The lottery is not a victimless crime.
The machine
There is a machine that grinds away day and night
Sucking our essence into its claws,
Equipped with clamps, suckers and syringes
To suck the life out of our pores.
It is an engine that never stops
That runs on control
Manned by faceless, nameless men
With selfish, greedy roles.
We are fed into its guts
Into an all-consuming void
That leeches all our dreams
Leaving mindless androids.
Somnambulistic dreams and phony fun,
To distract us from the truth,
That we are being milked and then confused
To disguise the living truth.
A processing plant
Of computerized precision
That saps all intent
And robs decision.
The world is run for profit
Without regard to pain or price,
As the short term interests are met
Putting up the cost of rice.
We may die in war or starve
In slums amongst the sewage and disease
But somewhere in a villa
The cause relaxes, smiles and is at ease.
Opher 25.11.2015