Chain-of-Command
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?
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.
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