Words are just painted impressions,
And the world has taught us how
They go astray and turn, or still.
We stand upon this tainted hill
Of diverted intent and call it History.

A layer upon another in a giant pill,
Like a palimpsest and we say Culture,
Some dominant, others compliant.
But each, not a predator but a vulture,
Scavengers on each others’ feelings,
Both calling it to collaborate.

New culture name to the Takers arrive.
Now History will call them Makers.
For some time the perspective will thrive,
As truth or evolution of social interaction,
When they putted us all hovering
Over an uneven Time-line,
A global pissing contest, new rules
Of engagement, no time to grief,
The decay of personal inner belief,
Substituted by forms of legitimate slavery.

Growing Inequality, rise of acceptance
Group therapy, everyone is a hero,
A special subject overcoming obstacles
Stay politically correct, get your tattoos,
Use your piercings, LBGT+, all is permitted,

Except to steal hope, the actual opium of people,
Except close the temples,
Were a guilty society catharsis happens,
Except suppress health addiction, a productivity condition,
The many serving the few, nothing new,
For now, yet,
Happy us there isn’t enforced curfew.

Have you noticed the growth of yellow lines?

(New enlightenment VS coercion)