The Rip Post                                                                                              

A Far Cry
It’s a far cry
It’s the last chance
It’s the last dance

Famine and futility
are stalking the land
like cancer, like
the hidden hand
reaching out from
the forbidden land.

Country gentlemen,
the landed gentry,
the very aristocracy,
Jefferson in chains,
has devolved into
plutocrat kleptocracy.

We’re all fair game
for poaching while
Armageddon approaches
I’m forgetting something
This I know: rhymes and
reasons belong to so
very long ago, the
years pass like days
we look back and
reminisce about
the good olds and
curse the greedy
thieves who’ve
blighted the world,
shorn us like sheep
keep our minds in
constant state
of passive sleep.

Tune out the
noise machine,
the huckster’s pitch,
Wall Street’s witch.
Tune into the drumbeat,
heartbeat’s perfect pitch,
The gentle eddies
of your soul’s
yaw and pitch
Maintain your
equilibrium and
you’ll find revelations
aplenty by mean of
game of toss and pitch
      ---Jack Oakes 6/8/2008



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