They ask us why we want
plains of melted glass.
They wonder how our hearts desire
a landscape that deathly glows.
The walls in our imaginations
seem too tall for decency.
The future mass deportations
deny the alien’s inner dreams.
We are not the monsters you imagine,
the truth is the opposite.
We are the victims of history,
at the wrong end of possibility.
The talking heads told us this,
our chosen leaders blessed the news.
The sky has fallen on our heads,
this wrong must be addressed.
Our fear was to be channeled,
directed into the status quo
on the battlefields of policy
by the brokers of industry.
Our anger was to be chained
to partisan engines made to flay
common enemies preordained
by the men blessed to lead.
Shake in your boots paper dolls,
our support is not more.
The trust placed in figure heads
has been betrayed to enemies.
Your words have found their mark.
While we no longer fast obey
your demands of blind support
we embrace the call for great change.
In their place true leaders come
with words to rally fearful hearts.
Forceful actions will precipitate
from these men of who agitate.
They've heard our call for authority,
picked up the club to make the change.
The stick will wail in the night
to right the wrongs in the day.
Perhaps the deserts will not glass
and the dunes will not glow.
To speak strongly is their gift,
these future masters of destiny.
The walls will be shorter than words
meant to calm the frightened folk.
Only the evil will have to leave
while the others are made to know their place.
The iron fist will be put away
behind the calm of a velvet glove.
All the righteous have no fear
when the anger is well spent.
Our gowns will be perfect white
with our leader to take our sins.
Might makes right we slighted ones
as we gaze across the glassy plains.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160120.