"America: Where You Can Hear The Machines Crying"

"America: Where You Can Hear The Machines Crying"

A Poem by PoeT4994

An America awareness poem.

A poet once said “There is an alternate dimension where giant conch shells hold people up to their ears and listen to the sound of machines.”
Machines cranking.
But I think he’s wrong.
I think what they hear is the sound of a 7 years olds bones bending like certain kinds of plastic, in a sweatshop, making your Nike’s.
You think you’re fresh, and clean, but do you know how much dirty, old sweat fell on that material while it was being made.
I think they hear the sound of fake smiles creaking across our faces.
We act happy, because we’re told to be happy, through materials and possesions.
When we are in a “recession” all of a sudden, but you haven’t noticed that the recession has been happening for years.
But people finally cared about debt, so know they want to recognize the problem.
America has a few things in common with the products they it pimps.
It’s fake, gives off a good image, but the substance lacks, and no matter how much money you have, you can’t actually afford it...even though it’s “free”.
So I come to you.
And I propose a new phenomenon, because I have discovered upon a recent trip to the beach, that if you hold conch shells up to your ear, you can hear the sound of oil spills and death.
Of birds muffled under the years of hard wasted money.
Rappers gloat about there diamonds, and silver.
But lately mother Earth has been rocking a stunning new dress made out of black gold.
Put that in your grills.
See if you still get girls when the bling that “makes you a man” is as black as your hearts.
I’m so glad our fore fathers fought so hard so that we could mass produce their faces onto paper and slowly rip away the freedom that we were built on.
I love how even the land of dream’s, the great American dream, and country of oppurtunities wears it’s labels just like a gold digger wears fake tits and Dulce and Gobanna purse.
So let me ask you this...after you’re done buying that girl drinks at the bar, and you help her stumble into another night of 17 too many mistakes, who are you really taking home?
And I hope, that when you’re done tapping that, you look into her eyes and you see the beautiful red, white, and blue stars and stripes while she cries.

© 2010 PoeT4994

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Added on August 17, 2010
Last Updated on August 17, 2010