Tail of the Worm

                                   Old Wold New ~ Philip Brent Harris


Beneath the surface of the shadow,
Live the voices,
Who listen to the voices.
Ordinary people
Acting in extraordinary ways.
An unexamined life,
Ancient wisdom cautions,
Is not worth living.
Or is it,
An uncommitted life denies scrutiny?
To fully live
Requires a willingness to pay,
Pay a price, bear a burden, be brave.
Risk small deaths
Profit, position, status.
Be invisible, when visibility means
Escape to fun and fantasy,
Superficial stimulation,
Survival of the slickest.

Fly in the face of social norms.
Flaunt convention,
Unquestioned actions.
Strive to learn
What has always been
Is not
What always must be.
Risk reputation, risk dignity,
Risk safety, risk death, risk life.
Tell the truth, your truth
Bear witness to what you believe.
Bare your teeth to derision, division,
Supposition, superstition;
Deny the masks, spells, wards,
The idols to mammon,
The misanthropes and misers.
Refuse to be trampled
By the jackboots of Ares!
Stand up to thugs and thieves.

Unlearn the curse of prejudice.
Perpetuated lies tell us
The poorest, the weakest.
Deserve their fate,
Revulsion and hate,
Piled upon them like rotting garbage.
Deny the privileged few this calumny,
This false assumption,
That all the cabbage, by right,
Is theirs; everything they touch
Turns to gold.
While what you touch
Turns to shit
In your grasp.

Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!
Stand firm against the power,
The powers that be,
The financial, industrial, military,
Not of what is
Or what has always been,
But what we are taught must be.

Mindless, maddening
Manufactured mediocrity,
A state of denial state of mind.
Pretending, posturing, preparing
For when we become,
But rarely are,
Wealthy, powerful,
Bold and beautiful, beyond elite,
Beyond belief, so brief.
Less time than an electron’s revolution,
No solution.
Life’s finished, if not complete.
Misbegotten, obviated,
History harsh master, mistress.
All failure and triumph lost,
Name forgotten, deeds unknown,
Forever alone.
The worms of time
Taste victory.
Your demise,
Vanished feats,
Their constant feast.

Bugs and beetles,
Worms and germs,
Discover no difference,
Partake impartially.
No loathing or love;
What has been above
Transmogrified, transubstantiated
Into the below,
The loamy soil.
Our ground of being,
Beginning, being and becoming.
No matter.
Not fame, belief,
Silver spoon or on relief,
Not race, sex, orientation,
Neither time, place nor nation,
How high or low our station.
Anyone living now,
Generations dead and gone,
Long forgotten.

Despite any airs assumed,
Wealth accrued or inherited,
Valorous victories, disastrous defeats,
Whether saint, slave or sinner,
Beggar, bigot, bastard,
Or something’s dinner.
No arguments,
No miracles,
Will change our fate.
List all your reasons,
Excuses, justifications,
Your angst, your weapons,
Your love and hope,
Your nooses and recriminations.
No matter
How high we rise or reach,
How low we fall or stoop,
We all begin and end
The same,
Nothing but worm poop.


Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength,  Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment


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See more of my creative offerings and opinions at:

The Pen’s Might

Brent Harris Fine Art

Philip Brent Digital Art

Vida Voices

Scriggler TPM

The Extra Mile
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