Long Live the American Dream

Stories are born between the walls, behind the window panes.

But people are made in this jungle.

Atop the towers, amidst the clouds,

this is where heroes are given their titles.

Saviors are born on Broadway,

cast to perfection by men.

The Creator’s lost his cubicle,

and had His Bible transcribed in erasable pen.

City slickers proselyte, they offer odes to pleasure.

The only joy that’s offered here

is the kind that money measures.

You come as nothing, and leave as such- but slightly more polluted-

why build your life here between the bricks where Living Water’s served diluted?

No matter.

A toast! To living ‘mongst the stars.

We praise our Glass of gin for cleansing pity’s scars.

The American dream! It’s alive and well! And it wears a plastic bag.

It sleeps on the subway

and asks strangers for a drag.

Plastered, it sings!

and still hungry it gripes.

It trades employment for enjoyment and plays the girls and pipes.

Peer inside the windows as the sun greets the glass. Can you see the stories being written on the stone? Can you feel the city soldiers etching into time?

The clock ticks louder here- the cuckoo never sleeps. Their march is always moving, but here the uncivil own the streets.