Lurk's Compendium of Dark Poetry (LCDP)

"Beneath the Banner of Dreams"

Behold, the shining city on the hill,
Where freedom is bought with blood and iron,
Where liberty walks with her head held high,
But beneath her feet, the soil is stained.
And in her shadow, the hungry sleep.

The flag waves proudly in the wind,
A banner of hope, stitched with gilded lies.
For here, the Dream is carved from stone-
Cold, hard, and unforgiving to the touch.
A promise whispered, but rarely kept.

The streets of gold are lined with rust,
And the marble towers stretch to the heavens,
While beneath, the sick are cast in chains,
Bound not by iron, but by debt and despair.
For their sickness is not cured, but sold.

See how the coffers swell,
As missiles rise like prayers to the sky,
And the drums of war beat ever louder.
We spend fortunes to defend the dream,
While the dreamers perish at its gates.

The soldier stands tall in polished steel,
But the worker is crushed beneath his load.
The sick cry out for mercy,
But mercy is expensive here-
And the price is more than flesh can pay.

For what is a life, but a ledger's line?
A debt to be collected, a cost to be weighed.
The dream is paved with broken backs,
And the bodies of those who dared to hope
Lie buried beneath its golden spires.

And yet, they tell us all is well.
That here, in the land of the free,
We are safe, if only we obey.
But safety comes at a terrible cost,
And the Dream is not for all.

The guns will fire, the banners will wave,
But no one hears the cries below.
For in the land of plenty,
We build our walls higher,
And let the weak be buried in their sickness.

So sleep, sweet nation, in your armored bed,
While beneath your feet, the ground rots away.
For the Dream you defend is but a lie,
And those who wake will find the cost
Too high to pay, too deep to climb.

But still, the flag will wave.