I think that I do often see,That satisfaction’s quite tricky.Oh, sure, let’s meditate all day long; I’ll lose some sorrow in a song.There’s comfort, sure, with family,And good food prepared tastily, And even writing poems like these,Can seem to make me happy. Please,To think that if I pray each day,And tithe in church when it’s Sunday,That I’ll be happy, die and find,A Heaven waiting, safe and kind.
If I can just get educated,I’ll work and find that I’m elated.A lot of plans are ego’s ploy,To make me think a happy boy,Will just emerge; with each new plan.I do not see a happy man,No action left, just a spectator,Maybe we’ll be happy later.
Despite beliefs I’m told to own,Still, Happiness, it sits alone,Deciding when to come out here.Will it emerge with one more beer?Perhaps, it’s not dependent on,Anything. Is it a con, When doctors, preachers, lawyers too,Tell us what we have to do,To find some happiness in life.”Perhaps if you can find a wife.””Perhaps if you will have a child.””Perhaps if you are always mild.””Perhaps if you’ll participate,And have a cause or celebrate.”
If satisfaction’s what I seek,I might be glad or reach a peak,But these true happiness won’t bring,IT comes in Summer, Fall or Spring;Perhaps when KINDNESS you do choose.Be kind to others, and try to lose,Unkind thoughts you have for you.Joy is lucky; love is true.
Sadly, now we passively, Watch our lives in slavery.The criminals in power now,Are simply rich and we all bow,To propaganda from machines,Of media, and all our teens,Are fed by leaders who will feed,Them lies, and they are guaranteed,Happiness with their new cell,And 5-G towers, very well.
Will this poem one day be found,On a disc or underground?For poems like this are seldom kept,By politicians we elect,Or those who insure they will rule,Fooling us that they’re not cruel,But they are cruel, men like Gates,And terrorists in 50 states,Who seek control of everything,And tell us all what we should bring,Into our lives so joy we’ll see.Can slaves perceive this infamy?
We’re off the farms and on concrete,Depending on the stores to eat,The G.M.O.s and foods we get,Laced with sugar and drugs, you bet.We can not get good food or news,And so we turn to porn and booze,And writing poems like this inside.We’re stuck in prison; have we died, Controlled by media and those who say:”Be calm; there’ll be a better day.”
Until these systems drop from sight,Which call it day when all is night,Until the recognition’s made,That land and nature can not fade,Until we love our lives and feel,That KINDNESS is the real deal,Until we know that slaves we are,And unkind it has gone too far.Now, HAPPINESS has shades too blue.Joy is lucky; love is true.