I was, for a time, perusing some of my older poetry, and stumbled upon two works that I love ever so dearly. One is a typical Jordan-type poem, that being, a typical comparison between emotionalism and the archetypical tragic hero, and the other is somewhat different from my other works, in that it is somewhat anti-societal. I had forgotten how passionate I once was about the pending downfall of modern social structure and, more specifically, the sort of capitalist notions that drive the World Bank to the extremities that it has reached today. This poem has somewhat reminded me of that passion, and I am not in the least ashamed to admit that I still harbour some of those same feelings.
Persephone Captive
Yesterday, as your tears gleamed in the refracted light
Of a shattered love
The difficulty of catching you
Before you fell onto the shards of your broken heart
From the vision of a broken heart,
You'll find the truth of love,
From the vantage of your knees,
You'll find the unforsaking, forsaken by the changing of times.
It takes you back to where stars held up the sky
It takes you back to where eros died
For the sake of Persephone captive
Theseus falls from his cliff
In a moment of sic transit
Gloria
Atop a Heap of Hoarded Refuse
Atop our own heap of hoarded refuse
We stand, ever vigilant, holding close
To our hearts all that is dear to us
The treasures of our world
Our own useless scrapheap
At a time when all was clear
At a time when our fate drew near
Before the sound of a burning dream
Before the established American regime
We could hear the sound that the earth would make
A sort of low rumble
The sound that you can only hear
In dreams
It is the sound of freedom
It is the sound of passion
Plagued by our own disillusioned
Mindless mechanic automated program of thought
Plagued by the billboards
The radio
The screen-god
The tenth legion returns to ravage our thoughts
Pax Romana
Pax Americana
As they rape and pillage the very core of our beings
They install their
Idiocy fear instilling puppet government
Upon the throne of our minds
Set forth to sap the wealth of our minds
And yet, still plagued by our own
Inadequate insoluble fear of inferiority
We all move on
Fearful
But undaunted
For what are we but marionettes
Dangling on the string of
The unknown invisible
Or are the strings only attached to our minds
I am Jason I am Oedipus I am Achilles
I am Pyrrhus
Doomed to fall for the greater cause
What greater cause is there than freedom
Not this reeking repulsive pile of refuse
Atop which we writhe and wail
And try and fail
To attain what we never can seem to find
Freedom
Not the kind you can buy and sell
Or write out upon paper
Not the kind that allows you to vote
But only for the rich and privileged candidate
Freedom joy happiness and
Peace
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