To Own His Each Poem by Raj Dronamraju

The wrong question is "Where have the good times gone? "
The right question is "Were the times really that good to begin with? "

Citizens of citadels
Generations removed from the ground
Paradise is paranoia
Stuff your shirts with unearned heavy pride

The anthem is playing! It's all about objects
And what past associations stand up and salute

Kernels of threatened fraudulent rose colored selective remembering
Not the truth but tampered with daily

So this tendency is not to be scrutinized
Worshiped instead as each weakling's sacred cow

These good times are like a bag filled with air
I hold it over my head and pop it with an open hand
And all look up but only for a few seconds