A ringing bell, perceived with sighs,

drastic, telepathic notes

clarifying coded lies,

ping emphatic round the moat,

last eroded passion flies

into abstraction from which floats

harsh reactions that promote —

Monsoon feelings storming freely

through the grottos of my mind,

squashing mottos, useless lines

meant to cloud, confuse and blind

beleaguered crowds, forced in line.

Recourse justice never conjured,

truth left sinking in the deep,

blinders, blinking, worn to keep

pith awry so as to reap

near-sighted eyes that cannot weep.

Oracles, self-seeking, peering

nether-wards, though truly called

to enlighten, but they all

turned their sights to their own walls

causing many hopes to fall —

Under the guise of bidden duty,

claiming time in short supply,

justifying wrong as right,

substituting truth for lies,

armored with their gain’s disguise —

Cause the children to become

marching lemmings doomed to fail,

clutched by lucre’s binding spell,

twofold more the child of hell,

deafened to the sounding bell.

Copyright © 2007 Arley Owens, Jr. All Rights Reserved