Act Out Bit Parts as Wit Departs after John Donne Meditation XVII Nunc lento sonitu dicunt morieris
Cloud cuckoo land where bland hands band against all authenticity,
there, playing ball before thrall's shawls eliminates lucidity.
Who waits awhile, stands, serves, won't free last long without dexterity -
which in itself suspicions casts whate'er one's assiduity.
Though almost fifty years have sped since Orwell paper penned to see
what hidden time-traps lay ahead - if writ today the same would be
as relevant or more. Where fed still silent mass majority
clings to and through employment bread with slight sustainability.
Every man an island is unto himself, or so should be,
yet many abdicate their fate, cede self-respect and liberty.
Each to each together chained, suspecting self-sufficiency;
by rigid rules, conventions, penned - dumb shadows in Democracy.
When compromising breezes blend, most bend, to please society,
trends ill to curse where currents tend that set sad score for sanity.
Should stout voice shout out from closed shop hive to doubt respectability,
we flout it lest it compromise our own invincibility.
Ignoring soul-song's anguished sighs most sacrifice ability,
conforming fear cut ties, hope dies - lip-service preserves stability.
Impeached, tried, sentenced, while rich thrive and undermine equality,
most stifle stranger's signal sighs 'there's none so blind as will not see! '
In restive rows, mechanic chain, men chafe forever to be free,
it rankles, goes against the grain, God: global productivity!
Tired, tied to task, most wills expend as ciphers in some factory,
or jobless, friendless, on social skills depend meal wheels of industry.
From dawn to dusk husk men mark time imprisoned intellectually,
as tiny cogs flywheels attend - a terrifying sight to see.
Pensions devalued, most descend to penniless impotency,
health in tatters, wealth at end, as social superfluity.
Where Government sets our stipend to suit its sensitivity.
Why do annuities ascend? electoral necessity.
Should one question this and that? Ideals are incongruity
to uncommitted bureaucrat who kills with calm complacency.
Though Internet for change once whet our appetites, 'authority'
lies heavier than lead inset upon the space we'd trace as free.
Mass media most minds has fed with blatant mediocrity,
environment and climate bled by sub-committee potpourri.
The generations now instead of freedom find RFID
reduces categories read, teach each reach barred identity.
Respecting pensions, these are spread so thinly through life's lottery,
the turf is bogged, no thoroughbred may speed with legitimity.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
