we build towers to deities in the sky, trampling what lies quietly at our feet.
the collective weight of a hideous wealth rests on a back crippled and stooped, amphibian skeletal ridges betraying a thousand year burden. poison has seeped into the cracks of these bones, so deep the marrow is seizing. every attempt at movement is petrified by the touch of a diamond-laden hand.
day after day we rig up suspension cables to support the bones of this rotting frame, pinning them to clouds we insist are solid, plying arthritic joints with crude oil, nodding our heads in self-appraisal, thrusting our chins, our chests, our groins to the heavens. until the insatiable beast rears it head and screams for more.
those on whose shoulders we stand throw hope to the wind, only to have it bottled, disguised as a prophet, and sold back to them at a profit. we then hitch our moral skirts and step over the debree, ignoring the telling pains in our chests.
we ply the light sources, the sun, the small fires, the stars, with bandages and patches, lest they expose what lies waiting in the shadows; lest our palid blue skin get scorched by truth.
but all that is material is finite. one day, all this will come unstuck.