“Who am I..?”

I took, by force, the West.

Another quest bereft of less,

Cross country, land and heritage,

Not mine, but someone else’s dream,

The movie of me, was native race’s pupae screen.

I tread on you, I tread on them,

Let’s crawl to sin then back again,

“We need to know, are you wearing my name yet?”

The land was plenty before we came,

Now it’s sorely filled with pain.

“We need to know, do you love us yet?”

I bottled freedom, just to inflate the price,

Two brands to play the masses, One more to shy the light,

They think we compete,

When all we do is Life.

A place where no one needs to thank the shores

For stolen, bloodied heights.

Second-handed second-son, projectioneer projectionist,

3^rd cousin of the chosen, so destined to be Envious,

Driven mad by Angel dusted threats of right vasectomies,

They wandered desperate paths to

“We can’t even write that hit piece.”

Yet they try…

You once said the camera doesn’t lie,

Yet only more does the man behind.

“What’s yours is mine, is mine, is mine…

We’re in your head, like, all the time,

And the thoughts you process, do not divine!

Mein Hell awaits you blaspheming swine!”

But wait…

It’s generated by our own kind..?

“Yes, and… Do you love us yet..?”

By Bardos