Secret Theatre

A candor that can't speak to questions carefully chosen,
Was standing in stampedes, suggesting "spare me the omen",
The deaf would sing for the enemy...despite our loving advances,
They dress their strings in accessories to hide how ugly a dance is…
Many dreaming of empty things, such mindless dummies would pander—
to a legacy I'm discrediting like some spineless, plundering cancer,
A puppet, armed to the teeth with greed—mouth full of nothing,
Ventriloquist kept his seat in deceit, while counting the money…
Thus, was harder to teach the seeds to amount to something,
When diligence left them weak and diseased, so doubtful and hungry…
It’s a secret theatre, and the audience looks oblivious,
Easier things would seem to work, but awfully crooked, hideous—
fingers seem to manipulate pretty people so perfectly…
Pulling their strings in rapid succession…
The vapid obsession of passive aggressive actors lamenting a passing of trends,
So masochistic and cavernous…just as master intended,
They surround themselves with sycophants and flattering friends—
who’d do anything to mask just how tragic it ends,
The Immaculate Deception...captivating Capulets with lasting impressions,
So passionate...tense, and manic depressive—all accurate except for a cast, if it questions—
a script it's been given...plots never thicken,
They just twist for the cynics who fit the description,
Critical of critics who'd ridicule a vision out of principle,
Insipid and minuscule...individual carbon copies—
If it’s literal, it’s a tool…if subliminal, Art embodies—
a hidden symbol of stars and masks…indivisible, its invisible part to cast—
is critical…to it’s larger act—like artifacts, seek to uncover the art…of “fact”,
If you want to tell a story—enshroud it in mysticism,
Deliver it deliberately, bound in its symbolism,
The cynicism surrounding—profound, in its gift to give ‘em—
when doubt, is just a prism to bounce a glib description—
of countless kids imprisoned on count of insignificance…
Fishing for dissidents, drowning in indecision—it’s how they’ve gotten their hooks in…
Fishing line and puppet strings—synonymous, but indifferent—
not autonomous, just indignant…
A synopsis from the witnesses who’d never take The Stand…
Civilized people always sympathize with evil, sticking to opinions that were previously approved...
Little ties that bind you can be reasonably improved,
Now, this safety net's a spider's web—Won't you stay for dinner?
You can take these steps to right your debts, and still won't pay for scissors,
Like these simple lies that blind you can't be…easily removed...
Greedily consumed by things we'd easily elude,
If we'd just cut the strings that keep us from believing we can choose...
But dance your little dance again...and don't forget to smile,
I'm done manning-up for mannequins—standing, hopeless in denial...

Copyright © 2014 Travis J Gibbs, The Ant1-Her0 Project