Saturday, February 6, 2021

Super Servile Sunday - poem / re-post

 

Super Servile Sunday

 

O sink not down to that corrosive couch,

Docile before the Orwellian screen

That regulates the lives of the servile,

Dictating dress and drink, demeanor, dreams

 

Declare your independence from the sludge

Of vague obedientiaries who fling

Away their empty lives in submission

To harsh, diagonal inches of rule

 

Poor weaklings chanting tainted tribal songs

In chorus hamsterable, huddled, heaped

While costumed in their masters’ liveries

And feeling little while thinking even less

 

The very model of the State’s non-men

Predictable and dull, submissive ghosts

Crowded, herded through cosmic cattle chutes

Reflected in dim, noisy nothingness.

 

But you…

 

But you, O you, be not of them, but be

A wanderer in the moonlight, one known

To God and to His holy solitude.

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