“Cardboard Kingdom” (poem)

Years don’t pass, they die–and leave no thought, no mourning
Only thirsty and weary hearts
Bellies stuffed full of caloric fluff.

While the world concocts a trillion new ways to waste time (just today)
And cynics laugh themselves silly on their road trip to Hell (no stops)
Good, upstanding folks are saddled with the needs of the lazy,
The incompetent and foolish,
The entitled and derisive
And in a weakened world, they give birth to children too anxious to even live.

Born in the rotten heart of America
Nestled warmly within the Degeneracy
(America smiles, he’s never ashamed
For his children don’t know how degenerate he is)
They’re stuck in his gut–never known anything but
The cancerous pus of America’s dead soul
Full of cheaters and liars and abusers galore–
Is it a wonder the children are dizzy?
They take cardboard and call it prime steel.

Hear the needy voices of cardboard people calling
From their fattened homes won by old-time victors:

Feed me, feed me, don’t leave me peckish for even a tick!
Praise me, praise me, don’t harm my esteem for even a sec!
Please me, please me, I can’t be unsexed for even a day!
Soothe me, soothe me, I can’t be made anxious or else I will die!

I’ve built a kingdom from materials I found, all brown and beautiful,
Better than that place they made before, all made of stony, earthy stuff.
Mine’s a corrugated crib to keep me safe from all the frightening things outside
The bad feelings and sensations that disturb me and unnerve me.
I am the immovable object, for my walls deter this thing
You call “reality,” the unstoppable force.

The real things hurt and make me weep
People aren’t what they ought to be
Their glances are like cutting knives
The judgments make my guilt feel great
Their problems weigh upon my face
Their expectations can’t be met
I’m never enough to win their love
I hate them when the day is done!
And yet you go on telling me my cardboard world is worse?
If life is suffering, then I’ll steal yours,
And make Him pay who put me here.

They stand on a shrinking, weathered plate
Set and balanced by a legion of craftsmen long dead
And they wonder and scoff at the notion
Of balance lost through carelessness
As if the likes of such has never been seen before!

Why, precisely, do they think there are no cardboard castles anywhere?
Have they a working theory?
Perhaps no one has tried it!
Perhaps no one has suffered it!
Perhaps they’ll be the first to try–what pioneers!
As soon as doubters like us are dust, of course.

Hear them gather abroad–
They store up hate for the real-made things
And play the song of death
Unto those who challenged the cardboard kings
And questioned the value of cardboard things.

Poor America has lost its youth
And its cancer’s running all amok
These suffering children need our help
(Although we’d rather pass the buck).

Let weariness of heart depart
And bright hope keep us true;
The madness of the weakened world
Is nearly, nearly, through.