Second Civil War Letters
© Surazeus
2018 07 03
What threads of strange facts in human events
could I pull down from the great ball of yarn
that winds into the fabric of our world
so I can weave small tapestry of life
that presents some plain human character
worshipped as god by countless followers?
Just as Joseph and Mary holding Jesus
ride their donkey to the gates of the city,
officers commissioned by the greedy king
detain them for illegal immigration
and lock them in the cage on the church lawn,
then take baby Jesus away from Mary.
At flash of dawn on Independence Day
we all commence the Second Civil War
to fight over meaning of Liberty,
whether each individual does their thing
or the rich exploit the poor for their gain,
shooting insults at each other on Twitter.
Instead of men with rifles in army units
marching into fields under clear blue skies
to shoot each other dead in blaze of bullets,
we sit alone in our rooms after dark,
millions of us dreaming in Cyberspace,
and insult each other on social networks.
The wise Messiah of America sleeps
wrapped loosely in the tattered sleeping bag
on the hard tiled porch of the downtown store
that sells plush state-of-the-art mattresses,
because no country accepts him as king
who dares to prophesy the proud will fall.
Jesus and Orpheus in cathedral hall
play chess of power with human beings as pawns
who gather in church every seven days
to praise the dead king they think will return
and raise loyal followers from the dead
who form communes beyond the city zones.
Sold into slavery for breaking laws,
we mine for jewels and gold in caves of Hellas,
and long to build high walls of paradise
while we sing hymns of praise for overlords
who give us pennies for soul-breaking work
on promise of the final resurrection.
We follow Orpheus from Cave of Shadows
and speak in tongues to utter prophecies
about the coming of the Anti-Christ,
who never pays contractors for their work
and sells women as slaves in Beauty Contests,
when Talking Head appears on television.
Assembled in the Wal-Mart parking lot,
after the Bigly Battle of Fake News,
we sit around camp fires to talk and write
our Second Civil War letters to share
news of our fight for freedom with family,
then sing Battle Hymn of Capitalism.
"Dear Wife and Children," I write on the back
of my overdue utility bills and rent,
"We continue our struggle to insure
equal treatment of justice under law
for every person living in this land,
so remember me with love, Your Blind Fool."
© Surazeus
2018 07 03
What threads of strange facts in human events
could I pull down from the great ball of yarn
that winds into the fabric of our world
so I can weave small tapestry of life
that presents some plain human character
worshipped as god by countless followers?
Just as Joseph and Mary holding Jesus
ride their donkey to the gates of the city,
officers commissioned by the greedy king
detain them for illegal immigration
and lock them in the cage on the church lawn,
then take baby Jesus away from Mary.
At flash of dawn on Independence Day
we all commence the Second Civil War
to fight over meaning of Liberty,
whether each individual does their thing
or the rich exploit the poor for their gain,
shooting insults at each other on Twitter.
Instead of men with rifles in army units
marching into fields under clear blue skies
to shoot each other dead in blaze of bullets,
we sit alone in our rooms after dark,
millions of us dreaming in Cyberspace,
and insult each other on social networks.
The wise Messiah of America sleeps
wrapped loosely in the tattered sleeping bag
on the hard tiled porch of the downtown store
that sells plush state-of-the-art mattresses,
because no country accepts him as king
who dares to prophesy the proud will fall.
Jesus and Orpheus in cathedral hall
play chess of power with human beings as pawns
who gather in church every seven days
to praise the dead king they think will return
and raise loyal followers from the dead
who form communes beyond the city zones.
Sold into slavery for breaking laws,
we mine for jewels and gold in caves of Hellas,
and long to build high walls of paradise
while we sing hymns of praise for overlords
who give us pennies for soul-breaking work
on promise of the final resurrection.
We follow Orpheus from Cave of Shadows
and speak in tongues to utter prophecies
about the coming of the Anti-Christ,
who never pays contractors for their work
and sells women as slaves in Beauty Contests,
when Talking Head appears on television.
Assembled in the Wal-Mart parking lot,
after the Bigly Battle of Fake News,
we sit around camp fires to talk and write
our Second Civil War letters to share
news of our fight for freedom with family,
then sing Battle Hymn of Capitalism.
"Dear Wife and Children," I write on the back
of my overdue utility bills and rent,
"We continue our struggle to insure
equal treatment of justice under law
for every person living in this land,
so remember me with love, Your Blind Fool."
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