The Ask

From an illusion that I was free.
A vision that I can’t unsee . . .

The energy of your good grace,
Brought the trespass you now face,

Upon the sanctity of your conscience.
By story, narrative and such nonsense.

We have and are yet being played.
Coaxed to slavery by parade.

Trampled by the ones who,
We’re meant to stand up for us too.

But it seems we’ve been replaced.
By what or whom? Laid to waste.

It’s power sought for power’s sake,
By sympathy revealed as fake.

A fake or perhaps a mask.
A mask that softens up the ask.

What is the ask, what can it be?
Surrendering of sovereignty?

Borne not of man and yet in he.
Of creation and what will be.

And so, we let our war be lost.
While tales still hide the larger cost.

The war upon and in our minds.
The war it hopes we won’t soon find.

Until we will, when it’s too late.
If there was a certain fate.

So, I’m heartened by the tyrant.
Of the ask he is defiant.

Defiance is a rarity.
A consequence of clarity.

Clarity’s become a curse,
In a world that’s this perverse.