Ramblings

America's Travail

In America, we

Are fucked

Like a daughter

Who was sexed

By her father

At an early

Age, and then

From then on

With any man 

That she meets

               it's like

'Give it to me'

                because

She has no sense

Of privacy

The privacy that

Her father

Took from her

               (and

the sense of)

Which was the real

Violation

In the matter; of

Her very will - 

To have one

                  of

Her very own.

           America

Had her innocence

Stripped from her

Early on

By predators

Of a monetary

Nature

Plying their trade 

With the aid

Of The People, who

          just didn't 

                  know

         any better

Is all, unaware

Of what all

           they            

were up against:

            the spirit

Of Reptilians

(and in some cases

the very Thing)

Taking advantage

Of the people's

               better -

               to say

           inherent

                 even

    fundamental -

Natures

       as vey gods

In the making

        ambushed

On the way

By souls, similar

To theirs

Though operating

                under

         arressted 

  development .

(And so they should

                        be.

             Arrested

I mean.  And they

Will be; 

              mark

My Word

             on that.)

           --

Talk Of Jesus

People talk

About Jesus

As though He

           will come

From the heavens,

             trailing

         clouds

Of glory (whatever

that is, or 

they are).

What if He

Is simply

Amongst us?

             Keeping

            an I

On things??
Having shared
Our trials and
                 yes,
Our tribulations
To a ripe old age???  

         Now, that

         would be

         a story

Worth telling

   and retelling

      on our way

      to

      heaven

                    or

   at least

The Fifth variation

Thereof

              for a start…

          We each

Have a part

to play

In 

The Drama

Unfolding

Before

Our very

I's.

And speaking

Of dramas:

I once wrote a film

About a man

And a woman

  (good start,

     eh?) both

Americans, who meet

At an artist's colony

In a seaside village

In Mexico.  He

         is a budding

         artist

Apparently; she

Is the daughter - 

         as lovely

As they come; 

                     if

   a bit feisty, still 

   in her youthful

   promise - 

Of a businessman

                      up

To no good, by

The looks of things

 With a couple of

Business partners

Again, apparently.

(Not everythig

In the film

Is as what 

we see

On the surface.  

A lot like real life

In that.  Or is that

'reel' life, too…)

They meet, 

                     talk

Briefly, and he asks

To paint her.  

                     Flustered

A bit, she

Acquiesces; 

          and as time

          goes by, he 

Paints a series of her;

                  from her

                  original

        white marble

            of youthful

Innocence, through

Stages of her browning

In the sun

Of her undoing;

              ending

In her death

At the hands

Of a jealous

True native, hankering

                  after

           something

That the still young 

American male

Stands for

In her mind.

                       Never

        mind

        what

        precisely

        (a likely

        candidate

        is

        Integrity);

            the point

        is that 

        the America

        that was

        dies;

           and in its place

           is left

           a final

Portrait, wherein she

Has been transmuted

              (in the mind

               of the artist

       you understand)

                           into

A dark-browned cross:

              a sacrifice

              to the god

              of Cupidity

              perhaps???

         …we never know

Precisely; all we know

Is that the artist - who 

(Again, apparently) feels

Responsible, somehow 

For the unhappy ending

Of the America

Of such promise

              (as does

The girl's father; still

Uncomprehending -

              at least

To some extent - his role

         in the whole

Scenario) -

                   moves on

 (to the unhappiness

  of the colony's older

  female owner; 

                      but that's

  another matter, 

                 indigenous

  to the screenplay itself) 

              And at the end

                          we see

That he has taken up

With some others

In the building of 

                     a city

On the American

Continent, that then

Becomes the focus

For a landing

From 'the heavens'.

Which won't have been

The first time

That that very

Sort of thing

Has happened

On this plane

Of existence,

This planet

Specifically,

           and

That place

On purpose.

The purpose

For which America

          stands

Truly.  Not

As She has been

Hijacked

From.  By those

Unworthy souls

Who have become

Besotted by

                 the God

Of Mammon

In their misplaced use

Of their gift, by

      their Creator

Of free will.

             But

There is still time,

Brother

To get it all

Right.

            But barely.

Oh - And

The city?

It stands for

                a City

                of Light

Ultimately

          coming down

          From the heavens,

             trailing

         clouds

Of great glory.