6.10.2014

EXIT, VOICE, TERROR

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
On a sunny day, such as this day
Whose clouds bluster, whose sun dogs lie
A light-blue so bleached, the placid sky
Seems now to have not been another way.
And say, like mind, stretches on and on
Until that moment when it is suddenly gone.

Once I think, my greatest grandfather came
To a wild shore, to EXIT, to leave his Albion
It was a time, it was a once-upon
But it was once upon a time the same
To find his way from the crowded burg
From Money and from a scurrilous word.

He and his kin on a day perhaps
Did at last desire to sever ties
Not mild over whether it was wise
But earnest that time should not elapse
Earnest that their VOICE be heard
Earnest for many an honest word.

But days wax on and long they may be
Many else came to share this place
Though gone was my father without trace
He was not one to live yet to see
The dividing of all of his spoils
The water warms, the water boils.

No inheritance is ever certain for long
But if it is at all it must be kept
For its decay slept not when we slept
A din would come to drown a song
Of buying and selling all under the sun
Of commodities for everyone

The mad mob! With its mass of eyes
Who could know what it would do
You would have been frightened too
If death you did not prefer to lies
But men must follow their selfly laws
Even if towards the cliff it draws.

Having broken down the walls that guard
Altar, garden, market and tomb
Even those that bear about the womb
What would prevent then the strong and hard
To whelm, to whelm to now purloin
And what was mightier than the coin?

And now everyone knows this is the end
To hear but themselves when they rise to speak
But it is not, as they insist, all so bleak
There is money to be made if you bend
If you ignore the all too empty helm
That vision might tend to overwhelm

With the thought of a billion men at arms
What choice remains for the caged beast
From the greatest unto the least
Who cares not for whomever he harms
He clamors for voice, he clamors for sound
But in his own clamor his voice is drowned;

But if a man should chance to die
With a bomb, with a gun or with a car
His fear and name will travel far
His TERROR will make the moneymen cry
And clamor to hear his harsh demands
This law such a man understands

The sane man, then must recognize
That voice is only worth its good
Where such one could be understood
Among his own, he may surmise
And what good now are his selfly laws
What good now is his heavenly cause?

Many arguments I have heard to say
That in this I am wrong, that I err
But I have searched and found nothing there
But a claim to the placid sky of day
For I know that I am not in error
About EXIT, VOICE and TERROR.

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