Bleak dawn broken by the roaring grind of machines
Exhausted, they sit in patience, their listless eyes famished
Inch by inch they creep
Until at last, the golden letters of salvation break the horizon:
I-K-E-A
From the far corners of the land they come
The tired, the young, the old and the poor
Their weekly pilgrimage
Mecca: The promised land of low prices and domestic conformity
They crowd her doors, frenzied masses
To hear her eulogy of Hope,
Touting the Theology of Material Consumption:
Salvation from the maladies of urbanism
Sainted clerks patiently listen to confessions of desire, need
Kindly pointing the pilgrims towards the overflowing shelves
Relics perched high, displayed for the devoted
Cooing, in awe they touch and stare with lustful eyes
Commercial absolution from their woes and tight budgets
For those of a stronger constitution and impoverished pockets
Deep in the warehouse the Catacombs beckon
Scavengers troll through the discarded and forgotten relics of yore
Cracked and broken bits, skeletons of discontinued models
On sale, ½ price
Eagerly, the followers line up to buy trinkets by the handfuls,
Amulets to protect against their reality.
With each pilgrimage they dream
Praying for the day when their gnawing hunger will subside,
Their domestic simplicity finally complete.
Yet it will never end, for with each sack they return home
With each new catalog, as to Pavlov’s Bell
They return for their fix, their relics faded, hunger renewed
The unattainable vision dangled before them:
Luxurious, perfect interiors will a happy life make...
Money doesn’t buy everything you know.
I saw Mona Lisa the other day
Languid in a corner café
A distant memory etched upon her face
Quietly sipping a coffee, her actions mute
Cramming into the subway car,
Little Lord Fauntleroy defiantly stared back
Tousled curls, clever blue eyes
Kicking my shin with his patent leather boot
Waiting at the traffic light,
The Girl with the Pearl Earring stands near by
Faint pink skin, vivid coral lips
Framed by a swath of somber brown
The essence of her noble heritage
Discreetly proclaimed by her profile
Reaching the corner, just before home
I run smack into myself
A visage of sandy blond locks
Soft brown eyes, broad face
One of Mother Nature’s advocates
He smiled, knowingly as he passed by
As if we shared a common secret
Buried deep within our genes
Comrades by birth
To the mongrel mind of an American
Solitary, we have no identity
A sudden pride gives birth
The knowledge of finally, belonging
As our heritage is unearthed, roots deepen
Maturity blossoms, the innocence of ignorance fades
For as with all families comes the joy, the support
The skeletons of guilt, atrocities and suffocation
The choice is simple:
Untethered, your soul will fly as high as it pleases
Incognito, you are what you say, what you believe, what you make
Valiant, conquering you return a hero
To the applause of none
Broad success, a mere speck of dust in the minds of history
Surrender to the warmth of a family, an evolution
Firmly rooted you become, frozen amidst tradition, obligation
Success creeps as slow as death, your soul whimpering
Yet the Howl will be mighty for the local boy, one of their own
Claiming his tiny plot in life, remembered across generations
Our moment in history, a changing of the guards
At the brink of starting anew once again
Ripe and fertile for exploitations, the pioneers
Dismantling the boundaries of time and relationships
Searching for the simple life, to stretch our wings as evolution intended
Our final frontier: The Mind