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.
With me raise one fiery fist!
Get ready to resist!”