The Masses are Lost

The Masses are lost.

They drift through water and time

And get stuck on sharp rocks.

They accumulate like trash

Gathering litter by litter

Until the river is clogged

And unsafe to drink from or swim in.

The masses are lost.

They wander the great American wasteland

Wasted and wanting things that leave them wanting.

They thirst for water but drink the sand.

No direction, no plan, no eyes, no hands.

They see mirages as revelation,

Walk in circles as revolution.

The masses are lost,

From the concourse to the catacombs

From Brook’s end to Brooklyn.

They walk the streets like unemployment lines

Waiting for someone to call their number.

Desperation is comfortable, hunger inevitable

Struggle unavoidable, progress unattainable,

Yet here they are mimicking the walk of the purposeful.

They confuse everything with anything.

And not all who wander are lost

But not all who are lost wonder enough to ever find direction.

The masses are lost,

And we are lost without the masses.

Caught in a cycle of tumbles,

I say “keep walking don’t mind the door”

But they’re always showing the rich and hiding the poor

Until we find something worth looking forward…

Something worth looking for.