by Mathiba Len Molefe
Something’s wrong with this system, twisted morals that rest on the Loral’s of the mislead who in turn mislead the members of their creed and cult form bands of sheep too meek to see they heed the words of the dark at heart and mind.
Too smart to listen and too dumb to talk they turn to echoing the thoughts of people whose findings rest on retrospect and speculation unverified, shaky, flaky foundations crumble when scrutinised by real eyes realising real lies and fallacy preached by phallic rulers.
Too caught up in hording to seek answers for themselves a spell that, truth be told, unbreakable, breakable only by the redefining of your very root. To reach the heavens you must root in hell and roost on thorns impaled. Pale comparisons to the garrisons protecting hearths of soldiers dead is the state of nations lead by headless heads in bed with monetary succubae.
Board not the ship that bares blood on its helm, for it wonders realms fit for scenes in hell’s obscene depiction of the world that isn’t while scything through the truth of the world that is, its living cargo oblivious.
The three Rs of society’s progress, resistance, rebellion, revolution are needed to redefine what times past have given the few at the top standing on the heads of those whose pain and sweaty brows raise them higher.
Why do we accept the injustices that we face day to day and pray for help from the divine indulging in pleasures beyond fathoming? Whilst us the earthly suffer at the hands of the evil overthrowing their “greatest creations”.
The meek’s inheritance is ruin and shame.
In his own image? I fail to imagine He, whose name in vain not used, lounging in squalor or the parlours that our leaders use to dim the minds of those who oppose their codes of modern slavery.
Bravery, brother of chivalry, and father of all freedom is at death’s door at odds with the options of whether to knock or knock down.
A daunting prospect for any driven by two conflicting imperatives.