The final redoubt
By Parson Thru
Filled with frustration I screamed the words:
“Father, midwife and wet-nurse of tyranny
Property thief, economic enslaver
Who entertains labour whilst draining its blood
Who feigns indignation when plans go awry
Who nurtures its grudges like fruit of the womb
Who holds all the cards but still marks the deck
Who auctioned its soul to the highest bid
Who raises its interns to follow the flag
Who poisons the world with its founder’s head
Who pays off the despots and murders the poor
Who distributes weapons to cultivate war
Who buys up the earth from under the dead
Who engineers ethics to favour the rich
Who knows how to sugar the cyanide pill
Whose fraudulent dream seduces the world
Whose saccharine banner flies from the hill
Whose merchant adventurers carry their creed
on the noses of missiles and B-52s
Whose corporate thieves govern a world
of good and evil, black and white
Nurturing enemies, buying up friends
while holding a gun beneath the baize.”
Then somebody shouted “Your words are naive!
Those methods are older than Gilgamesh!
There were villains before and others will follow.
Everything’s relative, each has his day.
The ascendant star has moved to its zenith.
Its drama occupies centre stage.
But greed doesn't flow from nation or flag,
it comes from a darkness deep in the heart.”
I needed an enemy, someone to blame,
the alternative's too much to contemplate
A beggar, yesterday, gave me his view:
"The end is at hand." according to God
“The wicked will perish.” he seemed to be glad
“But the good will be saved.” I assumed that was him
And what of this darkness each of us harbours?
We are not worthy, it seems.