Forgive and Forget

Forefathers forgive us, we have done you wrong.

Distracted by culture we were deceived and with great remorse we have sold our freedom to those who promised insurance of peace and pleasantries.

We have received, however, a fleece, called peace, which shields us from the rain of truth. Though the pleasantries have yet to follow, for unseen enemies continuously threaten our children and our bank accounts.

We pay more, thinking with typical American savvy, you get what you pay for.

This was not so, this time anyways, for shortly after we suffer depression and lose, finally our cries are heard and they feed our fears with medicine.

Not drugs, named the devil, we send back to the hell which we imagine is somewhere in slums of a once great city.

Fallen angel, once labeled, now a tortuous paradise, where pain and play are practiced every which way. Nude smiles and sacked identities laugh with cruelty; kindness reserved, we wait.

Distracted once more, some dawdle, unable to commit to contract they are punished with numbers, forced to pay or be denied.

Others proudly are given pleasantries for cash, the prostitutes laugh and are mimicked by grocery lined clones. Charging pleasure, on sale, 40% off, they hoard everything within reach.

Somewhere off you hear their voice, repeating your necessities, lest you forget, reminded you purchase and are temporarily relieved.

But the itch returns, and you go once more to the dealer of peace, they smile as they fix you, and you pay, every penny to those who’ve promised you these pill form pleasantries. Monthly you pay, on time or prompt, never late.

Your life depends on it. Being fixed you work for more, always more.

Whoring time for cash you smile, thanking those who will use and desert you; you can’t help the nausea but still choke down your righteousness.

Quelled is your sickness, bought on sale, you feel cheated but helpless. Silent and afraid you lie down and take it; left bleeding and cold once more you stifle a tear and get dressed.

Back in the waiting room, you do just that, mind wandering from poster to poster, magazine to magazine, from nurses working to doctors pretending to be busier; patiently you wait.

Silently your eyes regard a small colorless clock on an adjacent wall.

Slowly it acknowledges your diligence, promising futures free of this windowless cell with ever tick your muscles tense, preparing for your departure for the pharmacy.

At last, the future is here, prescription in hand you are sentenced to 30 days of remembrance and upon swallowing your punishment you smile.

Satisfied, for now, with that numbing form a sedation that suits this hollow sickness that has consumed what was once a person and silenced what was once, a fear.

Forefathers, we’re sorry, so sorry, but it feels so good, and though we fight to regain control we need that which was promised; we need it like we need food, for surely we’d die without it.

Please, we are sorry, but we cannot stop ourselves; we cannot put it down. Hands shaking we can barely manage the lid, but once it’s off, oh heaven is within reach again. So please father, don’t hate me now; for I love you still.

I simply cannot fight today, I am tired, I work to feel this good and now it is time to do so in peace.

Forget that while I rest my things are being stolen and my children raped. Forget that as I lie there unconscious I too am being defiled; forget everything that hurts too much to remember and numb away with me.

Father?

Can you hear me, I’m getting sleepy and fear I soon will be lost.

Will you find me then when I wake, and tell me what I lost? Without knowing,

it haunts my dreams.

Father, are you there?