As I watched the minions of capitalism
Cascade across the dimly lit emporium,
A consternation arises,
challenging the happiness of those smiling.
Is there light behind their smile?
Or has it been extinguished?
Replaced by a superficial mask.
Its creator, a lonely, green slip of paper.
What grace arises from these silicon smiles.
Such lament, hidden behind dolent dollars.
Have we lost emotion
and sold it to Madison AVE?
Can we still say our soul is our prized item?
Or has that been placed on a dusty table as well, waiting to be exchanged
for that lonely, green slip of paper?
