Post by methos on Nov 11, 2017 3:11:33 GMT -6
Reread this one tonight and felt pretty good about it. Thought I'd post it here and see what you all think, hell maybe no one even reads poetry anymore.
O Brothers of mine where are thou? Through mist of time and gloom of doubt I can not see you from here.
I need you now, need you to see. See the things I see and what they mean to me.
I hear your words mocking in my sleep but faces don't appear to match the sounds...
You've changed, you're strange, you're being misled.
How so, I answer back to ghosts in the dark. I see nothing wrong, feel quite right in the head.
Ha! You fool. From where we stand you are listening wrong, not changing with the times. You need to grow and adapt. The old ways were wrong and filled with hate.
What? What? I whisper back. The voices are right. I recognize you but the words you slur sound scripted and fake. How can this be? Are you truly the brothers of mine sired by the same grey pates?
This all seems wrong, the ground upon I stand seems firm to me, flowers well, smells right, paid for with my own hand.
Wrong again old brother. You look through the wrong end of the glass. This lot of yours was paid for with privilege and class. No man needs all that you got. Why, look at me. Postage stamp living you say, sustainable says we. If I feel I need to stretch out my arms I walk down the road and for a federal note get a sticker that allows me to walk with all common folk. On government land carefully groomed and watched over all. There's even some signs that say 'Danger! Don't Fall'. Have to be careful, don't make a mess, don't pluck, don't plant, don't mess with that duck. And don't ever trespass without that magic slip that says this person may pass.
What strange sounds to my ears brothers o mine. Don't think that is quite what the framers had in mind when they penned the Contract of Us.
Framers? Hush your words lest our children's minds become plagued with such disease as they wrought. We surely hope you're not speaking of such to your son and daughter except in the correct light of new modern plot.
You anger me now Brothers! You furrow my brow. Your poisonous barbs strike closer to kin now. I speak to them of such things and oh so much worse. I teach them to think and read and reason of course. I teach to plan and prepare and care for Their land, and now I know that I'll have to take care, to be watchful for the day when I'll have to whisper such truths in their ears lest other serfs do catch and hear treasonous words against king.
See brothers they already know, already understand, that the document sitting in DC has their names upon it in script writ large by right of their birth, mere handshake of life, God given, not to be taken without fight.
You're a dangerous one, we think you to be, you and your kind, for thinking no good. Why if the same blood didn't run in our veins we'd be pointing you out as an old fossil, Luddite of waning import, might as well be wearing white hood.
Then leave me be brothers, twas foolish of me to call in the night and wonder where you be, let alone ponder what you've become.
You're dead to me now, quiet shrill voices filled with vile con. Yet if you ever lift yourself out of the progressive mire you find yourself in, just turn around.
You'll see I've left the light on.
End of line
Methos
O Brothers of mine where are thou? Through mist of time and gloom of doubt I can not see you from here.
I need you now, need you to see. See the things I see and what they mean to me.
I hear your words mocking in my sleep but faces don't appear to match the sounds...
You've changed, you're strange, you're being misled.
How so, I answer back to ghosts in the dark. I see nothing wrong, feel quite right in the head.
Ha! You fool. From where we stand you are listening wrong, not changing with the times. You need to grow and adapt. The old ways were wrong and filled with hate.
What? What? I whisper back. The voices are right. I recognize you but the words you slur sound scripted and fake. How can this be? Are you truly the brothers of mine sired by the same grey pates?
This all seems wrong, the ground upon I stand seems firm to me, flowers well, smells right, paid for with my own hand.
Wrong again old brother. You look through the wrong end of the glass. This lot of yours was paid for with privilege and class. No man needs all that you got. Why, look at me. Postage stamp living you say, sustainable says we. If I feel I need to stretch out my arms I walk down the road and for a federal note get a sticker that allows me to walk with all common folk. On government land carefully groomed and watched over all. There's even some signs that say 'Danger! Don't Fall'. Have to be careful, don't make a mess, don't pluck, don't plant, don't mess with that duck. And don't ever trespass without that magic slip that says this person may pass.
What strange sounds to my ears brothers o mine. Don't think that is quite what the framers had in mind when they penned the Contract of Us.
Framers? Hush your words lest our children's minds become plagued with such disease as they wrought. We surely hope you're not speaking of such to your son and daughter except in the correct light of new modern plot.
You anger me now Brothers! You furrow my brow. Your poisonous barbs strike closer to kin now. I speak to them of such things and oh so much worse. I teach them to think and read and reason of course. I teach to plan and prepare and care for Their land, and now I know that I'll have to take care, to be watchful for the day when I'll have to whisper such truths in their ears lest other serfs do catch and hear treasonous words against king.
See brothers they already know, already understand, that the document sitting in DC has their names upon it in script writ large by right of their birth, mere handshake of life, God given, not to be taken without fight.
You're a dangerous one, we think you to be, you and your kind, for thinking no good. Why if the same blood didn't run in our veins we'd be pointing you out as an old fossil, Luddite of waning import, might as well be wearing white hood.
Then leave me be brothers, twas foolish of me to call in the night and wonder where you be, let alone ponder what you've become.
You're dead to me now, quiet shrill voices filled with vile con. Yet if you ever lift yourself out of the progressive mire you find yourself in, just turn around.
You'll see I've left the light on.
End of line
Methos
