Fugitives
Of course there are those,
Who oppose sweeping changes.
Many of them accustomed,
To maintaining a snob appeal.
With a stunning realization,
Their tactics to hide flaws and character degradations...
Behind insecurities they decided,
Would be best to divide...
Those in groups,
They duped to choose to demoralize.
Has them on the run.
And not for sport or fun to be done.
Now the experience of the clearing of the field...
Yields their debris.
And produces screams...
'Where is the justice?
Where is 'our' democracy? '
ATTENTION. ATTENTION!
Now hear this...
~On the field of your endeavors!
That's where the yielding exposes your deeds.
And 'rights' to exploit without insight.
Your democracy has been sold, '
To those overseas.~
Of course there are those,
Who enjoyed being 'they' and 'them'.
And to be subjected,
To effective disrespect...
Without definite identities.
Pleasing many of them,
To just lay low as victims.
In minority blends,
And considered non-entities.
A status that leaves many quite pleased.
That declaration keeps them hidden,
From accountability.
With fears their incompetence,
Would someday have a visibility.
And accusations shared,
Would no longer be a necessity.
As an openness,
Would set them free.
A freedom not before conceived.
*We are now free?
Why? *
And divisions between those of pretensions,
And those oppressed by deceitful deeds.
Eventually becomes more apparent,
As to who has been enslaved.
By lifestyles generated in dishonesty.
And who accepted scaps,
As a shallowing done...
While feasting on superficial greed.
Of course there are those,
Who oppose sweeping changes.
Of course there are those,
Who enjoyed being 'they' and 'them.
Now all affected have been left,
With addictions that transfixed.
In traumatic depression.
And a fear of reality,
That attacks their fantasies.
Fantasies fed.
And...
In their minds sit fixed!
All affected have been left.
In traumatic depression.
And fears of reality.
As fantasies kept deluded,
Refuses truth...
In the mix.
Standards and values are being attacked.
As they sit fixed in minds denying...
They are suspects.
And they are...
Fugitives left clue and witless.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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