Freedom becoming

Thro’ the shattered
mainstream of life
the waste land bears testimony to the shadow
Hear mothers wail for dead children
whose fathers slave to re-erect the rubble
Upon the rubble their fathers erected
This alter for sacrificed generations

Build fast! Build furious!
Erect the citadels of despair
Light high in neon love thy neighbour
And Triumph Los Alamos sons
While down on shamble row
hypothermia is setting in.
But you cant watch the spectre from the wings
Nor run from these dark schemes
For you that shed the tears
Carve a mask for tyranny

So . . . dare to tread backstage
Back to where the darkness meets the dawn
Here the breeze that whispers thro’ the alleys
Carries the voice of the dead slaves singing
Hark! “No master thus no slave
And there is no god but love
Let Freedom light your way.”
Beirut, Belfast, Soweto and Saigon
Echoes the whispering wind.

Moving thro’ the side streets
Steering clear of mainstream
Struggling thro’ the undergrowth
Seeking out the daylight
Turning, twisting, shaping
Seeing . . . feeling. hoping
lifting,sharing moving on.
In between the dark and the light—Becoming

Smashed down doors on the edge of Dawn
the thief is on the prowl.
The wake reveals that the carrion foe
Has pecked out the eyes of the lovers.
Here burgeons Tyranny proclaiming schemes
For the monopoly on the meaning of existence
Herald! . . . (trumpets stifle the breeze!)
Proclaim that you are free to do feel and say
What you are told to do say and feel
Now kneel—pray—be grateful for the right
To forge the chains that shackle Freedom.

Yet Spartacus stirs
Senses seared . . . genitals burnt
Is this Belfast or Babylon?
This backrest a rack or pillar?
And for whom does that bell tool?
I’ve seen the Milestones on Appian Way
They’re bodies nailed to trees!
And in the silence of a white washed room
You wish to talk to me
Of the error of my ways
and shape my sense of being
but I’m not listening now
nor will you comprehend
that in this silence I’ve become . . . Me

Now comes your orphans with with a hoe
They’ve come to talk to you
And they are of a knowledge
That no longer is it so
That neon in lieu of daylight
is a better deal than none.
For that . . . that reigned unchecked
Will no longer remain unbalanced.
For loves and this is is negated
by the strength to conquer fear.
The spectre that once you were
no longer has the stage
For the winds that sang of emancipation
Bear the seeds of your destruction
. . . Time it is to sow

Catch a glimpse of lush meadows
out beyond the wasteland
feel that surging spirit soar
to peaks of dreams that only
unfettered consciousness
can shape to reality
. . . Then talk to me of Freedom