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The swarming has begun.... |
Locusts [Pantheon, prologue] The locusts have been feeding, for too long now it seems; with apathy long breeding, seeding sordid, shady schemes Clouds of insects massing, where such crops run vibrant, green; in broad daylight they're gassing, ... barren fields, where they've been Harvests raped... reaped, ripped and raw, abandoned fields, brown; farmers numb, dumb, deaf and sore, left blind with stripped, spent ground Maybe it's the only way, a cycle that must run; the way such gears turn and play, as locusts' lying wing beats drum Thrum their way through pastures light, the slatting of dark wings; membraned thoughts, what's wong? what's right? confused with paltry, pointless things Distractions set, sharp shiny scraps, for black birds, to intrigue; craven hearts, as ravens flap, a never ending segue through scarecrows set in fields, sly, distracting from the swarm; they point to scapegoats nearby, dividing up the pliant pawns Set in motion, piece by piece, they fight as they are told; instead of ripping of the fleece, to see the wolves it truly holds Hiding in familliar garb, such shepherds preen and preach; riding, planting poison barbs, with wealth stored out of reach Harvests earnt through unchecked greed, excesses by the score; harvests reaped from others' seeds, unbound from rules of law Free to those, to whom they're tied, whomever shares their stock; in frozen larders, liars hide, in winters grasp we're locked Locked in a reality, where actions are ignored; with no accountability, no need to be explored 'midst blames and claims remitted, lost, dirths, buried in a ditch; such crimes, they are permitted, glossed, ... lest they happen to the rich Stood atop their turrets, high, in castles out of farmers' reach; hiding sins in currents, lies, affairs transparent... every breach Fashion shows, to rich to see, for mortal eyes, and moral codes; dictators wear democracy, an emporor's loose threads... new clothes Designed with skill and weaved of fog, for peons blind, to find, pursue; to fumble round such grim dank smog, smoke and mirrors, plain in view Dividing up the angry throng, with pitchforks set 'gainst torch's flame; lit with ire, sharp in prong, an army split... a work force tamed as termites gorge through cabinets, shuffling through stolen goods; hiding 'neath the laminate, infesting deeper, darker woods With silos ransacked, looted, robbed, a moral compass spinning, light; rendered dull and muted, fobbed, the farmhands slave away tonight Amidst the wasps and bee stings, spread, our hives shift with a burdened strain; when the locusts finish feasting, fed, should we grow the crops again? ... maybe halt the farm for now? deprive the insects off their source; strike where it harmed through the drought, damaging their stocks, their cause but apathy's long breeding now, for far too long, it truly seems; forever feeding swine and sow, seeding.... further... darker dreams |