People Over Politics, World Over Wealth!
On the Road to Paradise ~ Philip Brent Harris
~~~~~
Missing magic, miracles all vanished, hidden from everyone.
From vast spaces gone. Into unseen minuscule interstices,
between atoms disappeared. Despite clues, maps and legends,
whispered rumors, whereabouts remained unknown
Some mounted quests. Heroes came forth. Solo adventurers,
robber’s trusts, fellowships. All trekked far, endured miles uncounted.
Summits scaled, storm-wracked seas sailed, searing deserts searched.
They battled mightily and long until broken their journeys all in vain.
Others searched. Beggars, vagabonds, gypsy princes, fisher kings,
false prophets, innocent children, pure of heart, fat cats, lay-abouts
found nothing, false treasure, gilded lilies. No matter
what they said. They found no sign of any missing magic.
Liars proclaimed their success. Their lying lips crimson with failure.
Quest and reward twisted until unrecognizable. The truth hidden
inside banker’s boxes, church offerings, shelters, soup kitchens,
Gifts given and received. Any place least expected.
Almost no one knew, remembered. Almost everyone yearned.
Because life felt empty. Imposters promised reasons, riches,
relief, relaxation. Their lying lips crimson with failure.
Our world and life distorted, unrecognizable, nothing filled.
Our empty spaces vast inside, utterly alone, unknown.
We wandered, wondered what if we found our missing part?
Where could we, would we fit it in glutted lives ransomed to
life’s useless detritus? Why we must run full-tilt chaos?
We could not keep up or catch up, apprehend or comprehend
that these imposters and their promises were our lack.
Our longing became hidden, hollow, lost, forgotten, except
by ignored people called losers, suckers, lack wits, worse.
Dreamers all, who still sought to fill empty places within
them, our world. Mysteriously morsels of magic materialized.
Shining forth in a disregarded artist’s paintings. “He’s mad,”
they said to any who noticed. They sneered, “you must ignore him.”
And yet glimpses appeared in a sonata hidden in the future,
a Sarabande, lost in space and time. A buried sculpture
Unearthed the magic. A comic strip laughed the magic
A rap song roused the magic. A play acted the magic.
An aria sang the magic. Graffitied walls painted the magic
Everywhere, crimson lips failed to smother it. They battled magic
Mightily and long, until broken, their efforts all in vain.
We will thus succeed despite what you have been told.
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