The Upper Echelon

The liars

They have tarried for eons up through today

The truth, so clear that the gleam that reflects upon its surface becomes almost blinding to the average naked eye

Sometimes, untrained

Usually, just naked

It's funny how the collective attention span widens so obtusely whenever the subject is not heavily adorned

Scantily clad individuals get all the glances

The proud clothed folks, supposedly pristine with all of their Senseless garb, leaving little room to accesorize 

Jewelry is supposed to be subtle, if not hidden entirely

Sometimes, our amulets become the unwanted notoriety of ignorant witches who yearn to become one with passers-by

Coasting  through the chaos of the roaring crowd

It notates the notion to these morons that they just may have what it takes to conjure up the demonic that make it possible for gardening implements to sputter and fly

With dead weight upon makeshift spines, the wealthy heathens gallivant

From landmark to landmark sampling the finest wines

Attempting to exhibit prestige as they travel with egocentric assertion 

They have convinced themselves that they must deliver their opinions upon the others in a way that rings true somehow as if the ones who pretend to listen really give a tinkers fuck

Though, who is to say that there aren't any tinkers who can't throw a good one down?

The lost are never the easiest to be found, but they make far better bedfellows than the liars

The upper echelon

The ones so rich that they have been long gone forever

The clandestine elitists

The clever ones who are actually the few

The crimson spillers who have always made the spiritual side of nature seem over-ridden with the blue

They don't really have the slightest clue what it is that they believe

The high and mighty grieve internally like madmen

Their lust for the material has overflown into an ocean of all their sin

The ones who seem to have it all have been trapped eternally within their cages

Obsessing on monetary value

The sky-rocking of their unearned wages

Like a bunch of overgrown brats, locked inside a candy store

Never receiving the blessing of all that they have earned

Instead, all they see is having more

There is no end to the road to riches in their miniscule, naive human heads

All jacked up on sarcasm, sinister side-plotting, and the poisoning of our food and our meds

Their plan, to house the entire population in fake-ass friendly Mr. Rogers neighborhoods and , even worse, they want to make all their beds for them

Can they not see that their plates will never be that big?

They try to play God which is the biggest little no-no that there is

This land ain't your land

This land ain't my land

This land that he created is HIS...

10/15/2012