Fan Fiction, Art, StoriesFor sharing and getting input on anything you create within the forum rules. Doesn't necessarily have to be 'fan'work either. Original creative works fit just the same. Poetry and song lyrics, while not included, are also okay. Just remember the forum rules.
This is a poem I wrote for a slam poetry contest I was in the other week. I've been working on it for some time, and I'm presenting it again tomorrow for a larger audience. Just kind of figured I'd post it to see what you guys think. Any recommendations or thoughts on the poem are greatly appreciated.
Welcome to America
Welcome to America,
Land of opportunity.
The chance to build a better life for you and your family lies ahead;
The chance to become a millionaire and live the dream;
But most importantly, it's the chance to buy that new 3G iPhone.
What's the cost? Only your entire life's savings. And maybe your soul. We'll talk about it.
Here in America you can collect hundreds of things you’ll never use;
Spend hours, days, weeks, years, entire lifetimes working so you can surround yourself with material possessions –
Mountains of crap and worthless junk.
Phones, chairs, tables, works of art, shoes, jewelry, clothes, more shoes, computers, music, cars . . .
But why? Why bother with it all?
It's because Mother Culture, it's because society, it's because everything you know in life dictates that it should be so.
The pursuit of happiness – that singular, ultimate goal for humankind.
So does having that shiny new SUV dominating your driveway make you happy?
Does the sight of your 10 year old pickup Gramma gave you on your 16th birthday gathering rust put a smile on your face?
Does it make you want to jump for joy?
You didn't need that new car. But you bought it anyway.
Why? Because you have to.
"Check out my new Air Jordans!"
What was wrong with the old Nike's?
Mother Culture just told you that it was time to move on, to avoid attachment to any one thing
For fear that you'll never become one of the consumer whores that pave the streets with coupons.
You're forced to obey the advertisements,
The Good Year blimps trailing messages from their sponsors as they sail over the Superbowl stadium;
Listening to their commands, marching along like a robot . . .
Left, right, buy this, inhale, exhale, buy that.
The master of the castle wants you to break your back doing jobs that benefit no one,
That get you nowhere in life,
That only leads to you ordering entire sections of the Sear's summer catalog so you can boast to your friends that you've got a 500" Toshiba flat screen TV sitting in your living room.
Day in and day out,
Doing all you can to scrounge up enough to take your girl out to a fancy dinner
When you both know a picnic at the park is just fine.
So you can get your dad that autographed baseball that he'll stare at for 10 minutes,
Forgetting it even exists when tomorrow comes around.
The master of the castle? Why, Mother Culture, of course!
She says obey,
Become one of the mindless drones that march along like wound up toy soldiers.
Dare you disobey?
The penalty for that, my friends, is banishment from the kingdom,
Left to suffer a fate worse than a broken cell phone charger.
Welcome to America,
A nation enslaved.
Citizens manufactured by their own ambitions;
One after another, moving along the conveyor belt to be shipped off to the nearest large scale mall,
Pockets laden with credit cards, cash, checks, receipts, coupons.
Children's souls shackled at birth by mind numbing hours of television and video games,
Told there's a new Superman action figure out,
That they just have to make their parents buy it for them:
He's got laser vision,
Justice punching action,
A cape that flaps behind him in the wind,
And the powers to make the dead walk, talk, and breathe.
Because that’s all we are --
Zombies, mindlessly marching along,
Picking up the latest and the greatest since the old is so obsolete.
Since when is something that's been out for 3 weeks considered old news?
Last time I checked, you were still a baby at that age,
A newborn, in fact.
But a MacBook that’s been out for a month was around long before dinosaurs roamed the Earth.
Welcome to America.
If you look to your left, there's a sweat shop factory manned by underage immigrants slaving away so you can wear that lovely cashmere sweater.
If you look to your right, there's a business mogul playing Monopoly with the flashy suits and big wigs on Wall Street.
If you look inside, you'll see that there are “For Sale” signs staked into your heart, mind, body, and soul,
And Mother Culture is all too willing to pay; she’s got more than enough to spare.
In fact, she could buy you for next to nothing,
Because in her eyes, that’s what you are.
You're just another well oiled cog in the big bad machine called consumerism,
Her only job is to keep the wheels turning.
She's the queen and you're her busy little workers, scurrying about to make sure she's pleased with the lack of progress you've made.
You're just another player in her game,
And she's got a few billion substitutions ready to take your place the second you start to slack off.
But what happens to the game when you don't play by the rules?
What happens when you stop keeping score?
There are no refs, there is no opposing team;
There's only me, myself, and I vs. you, them, and us.
You’re at war with yourself,
And you're losing.
Welcome to America.
We hope you enjoy your stay.
Please visit the gift shop found on the main floor.
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Last edited by SageoftheSixPaths; 07-29-2010 at 06:32 PM.