Saturday, November 13, 2010

In Thick Grey Mists

October 5th, 2010

Lies an object surreal,

A thing both envied and abhorred.

Neither good nor bad,

Essential nor apart,

In society necessary

And to instinct, contrary.

The limited edition was

Narrow in creativity

and time.

Crunching the numbers,

Running the data,

From the rising of the sun

To that of the moon,

Jobs from the boss became boring;

Fall did the stocks all too soon.

Restoring confidence in the stake holders

A new edition was announced.

Prices would be cheaper

To bring in new crowds

But consumers would be happy,

“Perfection” there they found.

Two products on the market

Was surplus, not demand,

“Too much,” said the buyers,

“You never understand.”

First quarter returns so surpassed all projections,

Fat dripped down the rungs on the corporate ladder.

Returns for investors

Were skimmed in the night,

Carbon copies and receipts pointed to the deceit.

Litigation was filed,

The Judge ruled to condemn;

Guilty workers escorted out by the cops.

Restraining orders replaced the office keys,

No chance for employment or place to sleep.

Sought out all too quickly

By youth’s determined brow

Made to furrows by weight

Under one heavy-handed plow.

We drive the donkey

Though fate we exalt,

Manacles to freedom

And suicide, the heart.

Delusions to the masses

To the government, control,

The strings are invisible

To all but the King.

Deep in the will

We find an abyss,

Pining for reason

Emotions suffice.

To enter more slowly

We can follow the way

Of those we love dearly

To on our course stay.

With ears of great hearing

And eyes that are cunning

A trail might be blazed

Escaping fear and confounding.

Walking and waiting

We just want a sign

That with each single step

Brings us closer to find

That which is calling

Men and women afar

To leave light and safety

Seeking words from the stars

While we find in ourselves

No lack of what’s rare.

Now staring eyes see

What’s been there all along

A man is a man

And he truly belongs.

To those whose feet

Never don shoes,

To whom strolling in darkness

Has allure of foul food,

The journey brings respect

While there knowing to be more;

That what can be seen

Is half of what exists.

The world is behind us

Distraction betwixt.

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