At least 60 years of age
Feebly climbing into a gray acura
Driving away from the library parking lot
Cold as it may be,
She was warm.
Sheltered away from the loud streets
Lined with carbon monoxide.
Like ants,
Very small ants, antennas bouncing off one another's heads.
Not really getting anywhere new.
Same old sounds and smells
Basically for survival
To keep this polite ant colony marching.
"Paper or plastic?"
"Would you like katchup with that?"
"Cream or sugar?"
I sure don't want to be an ant.
As the sun warms my cold little body,
Its that wind chill factor
I need be weary of,
Not the sun in these cold bitter months.
Even with things falling out and such
I feel a renewed sense of hope,
Of change,
But not Obama.
Sure he can help but at the end of the day
Its an individual ant choice.
To lead of follow.
Stand in line or get out of the way,
Push out the middle man and ensure any person
Making less than two million annually
Middle class.
Oh yes, these wonderful economic times,
With none rivaling since the great depression of the early twenties.
I wonder so much in these modern days.
Did it ever change?
Was the USA destined to be a socialist country from the start?
This so called melting pot,
Centralized here around our nations capital
I feel, is slowly moving towards communism.
And I don't know what to do.
I know things are difficult for everyone
And justly so
I continue to pray for our own sake
And save us from our own deadly sins.
Amen.
Stainshane
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