Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Our Moral Compass

Our Moral Compass
© Surazeus
2018 10 09

This is how we lose our social support,
he ponders while sitting on old hotel porch
where butterflies flutter around bright plants,
because we fail to stay in touch with friends.

The old man in tattered jeans shuffling by,
who carries scuffed skateboard under his right arm,
aims hand shaped like a gun at him and pows,
then chuckles as he wanders somewhere else.

The white hawk that glides in the clear blue sky
drops in his open hand strange metal charm
stamped with a woman herding seven cows,
which reveals what his friends say must be false.

We will make America great again,
he reads written on the side of the bus,
so he throws handful of pens in the trash
and walks without umbrella in the rain.

The glass piano floating in the sky
translates the singing of the broken bones
from every dark-skinned soul, killed by police,
who dared to defy blind authority.

My skin is pale pink and my eyes are blue,
therefore I know I have nothing to fear
when I walk where I want in city streets,
so I want them to feel secure like me.

We are all equal in this game of life,
competing to survive this hostile world
in constant contest for who gets to eat
and who must work to sustain the machine.

I feel broken by the money machine
that demands constant labor of our hands
to energize production of more food
as return of investment for our love.

The laughing skull of Hamlet tells me why
we should at least try to make it all work
because death will destroy us soon enough
no matter how much fame in life we earn.

When Byron leads me to the marble hall
he shows me just what happens to us all
so we sit together and drink blood wine
to reassure each other all is fine.

When arguments over rights escalates
I am still on the side of Liberty
for every person to do as they will,
if they will create and never destroy.

I am on the side of justice for all,
where every person is treated the same
regardless of their gender or their race,
enforced by honest people we respect.

Approaching the large factory where he works,
he sees two policemen aiming their guns
at the black man who clutches small brown bag
so he determines, I will intervene.

No matter what his crime, you must not shoot,
he calls from the crowd recording with phones,
for he deserves his day in open court
to prove his innocence with right to live.

The black man holds both hands up to the sky
while the police shout for him to lie down
but he trembles terrified, so they shoot,
blasting a dozen bullets in his chest.

As the black man lies flat, bleeding to death,
the police open the brown bag and find
three bottles of milk for his infant child
he bought at the corner store with food stamps.

This is how we lose our moral compass,
he ponders while slouching by factory fence,
where flies buzz around piles of stinking trash,
because we fail to protect innocence.

The white hawk that glides in the clear blue sky
drops in his open hand the blank compass,
so he reads the motto carved on its back,
do what you will if you never cause harm.

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