Your Move ~ Philip Brent Harris
~~~~~
Watching the blue of heaven fall,
neon hue slipping down the wall.
Canvas flags flutter, angel wings
reflecting the glory of the sound.
You wonder about divine choirs
Unsure of what they might sing?
As names and voices are shared.
This magic of a sacred moment,
renders our songs celestial fair,
with power that though we feel,
choose not, cannot understand.
Many empty seats bear witness
to the world’s power to distract.
Whether natural, as the weather,
sports, politics, or any whatever
can never pierce the heart of loss
to see us led away from wonder.
False idols, stars for their ability,
neither character nor actions can
ban them from the vaunted field.
Warriors, not bloody or unbowed
holding away perpetual boredom.
our inability to maintain a fiction
that what they show truly matters.
This, despite their myriad talents,
on display for us during a contest,
hyped as if the fate of our species
Hangs precariously in the balance.
Reflecting what our titular leaders
have become. Simple entertainers,
circus freaks and sideshow barkers.
Step right up and chance your luck,
Drink the elixir of clarifying nectar,
walk upon the midway, where prizes
shown, never quite what they appear.
When every game is rigged in favor
of the house, full of many tricks, and
the fell Reaper always on their side.
Guns found upon the way shoot true.
Bullets that’re loaded always lethal.
We, the many, run petrified, targets,
find few places where we may hide.
When we think we’ve found safety,
we must struggle, try to remember,
the bombs which they are juggling
hold the power of the mighty stars.
Now we have reached the big top,
ushered in, dumb and placid cattle,
looking around in awe, pretending
we have no clue, the coming show.
See the maestro, leader in the ring,
jacket dyed scarlet and hair aflame,
bargain with the devil as we watch,
our mortal souls the prize on offer.
The crowd heaps cheers upon him,
except, all who turn away in terror.
Hoping they may change the venue,
or switch the entertainment offered,
fearing the time to leave is long past,
while searching for the closest egress.
The exits are all closed and guarded,
stooges in boots, buffed black, shiny,
where we can see ourselves reflected,
while they’re standing on our throats.
Certainly, some will panic, but their
screams of pain send many slinking
to their seats, now locked in a cage.
Will we then struggle side-by-side,
strangers closer than friends, family?
Till we finally, fully grasp our folly,
realizing it is far too late to choose.
~~~~~
Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength, Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment
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