Whispers of the long dead suffer silently
For wants of their former lives, those
Shouts of the entitled living call harshly;
Streams lost amidst the clamour for more.
Belief subliminally given to a cause
In which deception plays a great part
To draw more than is its lot appointed
Is yet just a propped up, sordid loyalty.
Follow the cues, roll with it all,
Those notes to say ‘we are here’
Guide us onwards, the rails switch,
Trick and track to stay on course.
Societal patterns and games sold
To the highest bidders prosper under
New plans and billboards outlining
Those hopes for a dystopic route.
Hopes and fears, yet did we plan
For the future powering down
Upon our bewildered, individual
Heads? Lined up like dry stalks
For a casual catch-all ending.
Moments of feeling amidst the land
Of dank surroundings remind me
Anew of those underlayers, caramel
Oozing joy ready to seep through
Cracks of this burgeoning experience.
Was such considered before? Through
Those long days and drawn years sold
Under the umbrella of unctuous striving
Without reference, always with judgement
Against the world’s pained and appalling
Disbelief in joint experience,
Guffaws with group assurance
Alike to a mob tendency agreed
With self-importance and the use
Of charms granted by chance.
Dramatic stories told reflect
The vicarious lives led apart
From points of reference true
Like dirty stars burning barely
Through their dry and broken crusts.
Eyes of old societies and outdated cultures
Watch through swarms of flying insect lies
Risen from outmoded piles, heaps of customs
Dead from being rewritten over centuries.
They judge for they have eyes to judge with
Yet despite the Word they recognise not
Their own moral horror, hypocrisy held
As a banner with which to ward off corruption.
Points of responsibility taken, assumed
For want of no other willing to be that
One who stands, to whom the questions
Are laid as unto the rays of dank stars.
Trials like that of singular shoulders
Weighed down upon by personal
Merit, individual integrity, those points
Of our struggles more than identifiers.
That so many see curiousity instead
Of what we hold to valour, our honour
Ignored for blaise social commitments
To an ideal that we long ago disavowed.
Long have I thought myself past
That timid and lying morality,
Self deluding and possessive
Of all futures and possible past.
The now shows that though I may be
Past such things, the owners are not,
Strains of prejudice making rules
For themselves, new ones for others.
“We are all one.” they say, loudly,
“Oh, but not those, they belong not.”;
With one hand all is well, beneath
The other lies an enduring hell.