Through a glass darkly
a wonderland of woe
seven billion souls squirm
from blow after blow.
I am dead to this world of
mice and men,
us and them,
blood and phlegm.
In that fun house mirror
the world defeated,
fat cats our leaders,
liars and cheaters,
white men with paunches
rest on plump haunches,
laughing merrily,
at master puppetry,
all strings attached,
I’ll scratch yours
then
I’ll be scratched,
or maybe just
jerked around
by fat fingers
on hair triggers.
I’m dead to this world
of stupid white men
who decide fate
with flick of switch or
scratch of pen.
Time to change the
ancient guard,
bury deep the
gun, the sword,
put to pasture
those who cling
to hate, to fear
to more killing.
I’m dead to the world
where sisters fall
from striking blow,
where bruises blossom
on tender flesh
and fear and pain
are all that grow.
I’m dead to the world
of you versus me,
of enemy,
of treachery.
Leave it behind
let’s turn our backs
the drudge, the grind
that tiring track
that leads us round
from go to woe
that same old path
that we all know.
Cradle to coffin
we tread a path
designed to make us
bleed to the last,
shop till we drop,
consume till we die-
get off the treadmill
leave the lie,
on the way out,
spit in
corporation eye.
I’m dead to that world
of monetary gain
from people’s pain.
I’m looking now for a peaceful place,
an Elysian field
beyond rat race.
Come take my hand,
whisper to me,
the dream you dream
that will set you free.
Violet Poetry 