Once Upon a Pristine Day, Part I

Megalomania’s Parade

 

Once upon a pristine day

Yesteryear, perhaps tomorrow

Megalomania leads the world astray

Drenches helpless, hapless souls in droughts of sorrow

 

Once upon an unspoiled night

Long ago or sometime soon

This tyrant holds court in all his subjects’ sight

Who kneel in the listless light of a mortified moon

 

“Behold my courtiers one by one,”

He speaks, “side by side with me they rule.

See our spoils of war, we have spared none.

Even the cherubim we’d snatch from Paradise’s vestibule.”

 

Out of the darkness then appears

His retinue with rotten torches bright

Carrying the heads of grief-sodden soldiers on their spears

With the blood of Innocence their barren banners are bedight

 

First comes Madness waving a flogged and scruffy flag

It is Civility, tied to a staff, arms flailing wildly in the wind

A cry of outrage emerges from the ragtag

“Release her!” screams a woman much chagrined

 

But a six-plait whip swiftly knocks her down

Barbarism follows Madness in long strides

Wearing as a headdress Mercy’s bloodstained gown

Naked and used she this display of crimson cruelty abides

 

Upon this sorry sight the crowd despairs

Stunned into silence, they their eyes avert

This nightmare has caught them unawares

Yet more evil is in store for these servants in the dirt

 

Next up is Exploitation, fat and flaccid on a cart

Scores of children at her feet travail

For the barest sustenance they tear themselves apart

Out of stolen years they fabricate their oppressors’ coats of mail

 

Above the clamor of their groans Greed thus proclaims:

“Bigger, faster, farther, more!”

Next to him Compassion walks in chains

Made his wretched, lowly whore

 

To her the people lift their eyes up from the ground

Touch her rags as she drags them through the mud

“There can be no freedom so long as you are bound.

With you all hope they’ve nipped right in the bud.”

 

Compassion turns to them and stares

Blankly into their bleak, imploring eyes

“Bow to these aggressors’ angry glares,

Resign yourselves to my demise.”

 

On and on goes this shameful, vile parade

Hypocrisy holds Candidness on a tatty, dirty leash

While she nurses Truth, her son, in an obscene charade:

“Behold this pathetic, pitiful pastiche!”

 

Death itself follows in her tracks

Dragging lady Love by a tattered tuft of hair

“Watch, cowards,” it screams, “you will all end up on their racks!

Feel their fiendish fires flare, hear their hellish bugles blare!”

 

Then rises from the kneeling crowd a lowly boy

A ragged, tortured youth, he raises up his voice

Calls to a halt this corrupted, crude convoy

“Enough of this, you have left me with no choice.”

 

Megalomania turns to him and scoffs

“Who are you to venture such defiant words

To me who made the gutter here your feeding trough?

Your neck I’ll break as briskly as a bird’s.”

 

The boy smiles and bows very nearly gallantly

“Opposition is my name. I call to my brothers and sisters

Who with me this day shall fight most valiantly.

Perseverance, Bravery, my fellow resistors!

 

Rise from your all too early graves,

Unite behind me as your commander,

Stand up to the spitting spitefulness that these people here enslaves!

We shall have no more of this sick, uncanny slander.

 

Insubordination, Fearlessness

With me raise one fiery fist!

Defiance, Boldness

Get ready to resist!”

 

Part II: Opposition’s Justice

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