I had this vision back last spring,
When the land was ruled by corrupted kings,
And greed was fuelled by hoarding things,
But things that one could touch.
The vision spoke of melted gold,
The value of the world resold,
“The price for life” is what we’re told,
By men who own too much.
As fear spread through a world; forlorn,
With threats of plague that ne’er were born,
Fresh chains were forged and willing-worn,
By those who feared the lie.
And though once joy had been assured,
Through weighing risk, and griefs endured,
Death could no longer be ignored,
For all souls fear to die.
This fear was stoked by those town criers,
Who peal the bells but start the fires,
And sing the songs their lord requires,
To whom they humbly thank.
Fresh tides of evil rise with haste,
As hands of Midas are replaced,
By hands whose touch turns all to waste,
And paper sharp and blank.
“But rules are rules” the fearful sigh,
Content to see their forebears die,
No hand to hold, no last goodbye,
Just pixels, bright but cold.
“But rules are rules”, the state replies,
While deaf to all those muffled cries,
That sound from those with honest eyes,
And doubt the fear they’re sold.
And even children are not spared,
For misery is widely shared,
And dished by those who swore they cared,
But cared for guidelines more.
So mired and masked, the schools return,
Devoid of joy but forced to churn
Out abstract facts, for all must learn
That learning’s just a chore.
The vision ends when all is grey,
While shapeless, mouthless words relay,
The promise of a brighter day,
But no such day arrives.
A year drifts by, and so does youth,
The vision now a dismal truth,
But ‘truth’ is passé and uncouth,
While fiction blooms and thrives.
But even in this twilight hour,
imprisoned in our lonesome bower,
The words we speak retain their power,
And words can never die.
So speak your thoughts, and rise above
The barbs and briars of those who shove
The truth away, just think and love,
And you’ll escape the lie.