Shedding a tear,
To the tragedy of our enslavement
To our own machinery.
But despair gives way to rage:
An emotion that genteel society
Expects us to gently hold within,
As if a flag could contain a supernova.
A tedious ritual of daily reminders
Of how disempowered we are,
Despite what the gurus of goodness
Try to sell to us,
Leaving a lingering constancy of
Headache and heartache.
This certain confusion is confusing certainly.
The impulse to solve this problem
Manifests in strange ways,
The multiform escape weaves deception:
Chemicals, possessions, fables, pleasures, personalities,
Or any number of perverse pursuits posing positively.
Until… The inevitable hand of reality
Slaps hard enough to break the spell.
Certainly a fight is to be had
A refusal to lay down and die
Before the monstrosity of