WE WHO DO NOT LOOK UP AND THEY WHO DO NOT BOW DOWN

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A poem by Stephen McAuliffe

So who embedded this terrible machine within our collective psyche?

And who selected as our cultural intellectual icons

These leaden spiritess fools

Made heavy and weighed down with solely material concerns?

Is it surely a surprise that mental and spiritual collapse

Continuously rears its ugly head

For those who bow down to nothing?

 

And nobody mentions the sub-heading of the Origin of Species:

The Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life

For it smacks too hard of eugenics I guess

And elitism

And fascism

And every negative ism you could care or dare to mention.

 

But as always, two false choices prevail:

Original sin or a mere accident of chemistry

Hobson’s choice as decreed his Master’s Voice. 

And how many Christians does it take to cross the road?

-In order to avoid the homeless man in his piss-stained trousers?

         

No, there must be more than this and way beyond

 

For the ghost of man, the magical thinker

Has been seduced and reduced to little more than a pliable piece of spiritual putty

Folded, moulded and sculpted by unseen hands

I look around to see people everywhere standing on their heads

To avoid seeing the world turned upside down

Paying no mind and

Resolutely failing to see that freedom lies

In the nourishment of the earth

And the soul combined.

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