deepundergroundpoetry.com
Pink Paupers
Satan is tsar
in the land of destiny
where poplars and birches
are plundered by the wind
for the burning cold
is an everlasting flame
whose blue yellows
prickle the spines
of the tattered lives
whose hopes crumple
in their empty hands
swollen with the dream
of paradise regained
where the lamb and the lion
lie peacefully together
but such are the illusions
of schizoid automatons
who never wake up
but are wound up
with sweat and tears
in the red dotted fields
sowing the seeds
of the mallet and sword
whose poundings are not gold
but cracked skulls
devoid of choice
for there is no such word
in the forked tongue language
which isn’t utopia
but tyranny with a warm hug
in the land of destiny
where poplars and birches
are plundered by the wind
for the burning cold
is an everlasting flame
whose blue yellows
prickle the spines
of the tattered lives
whose hopes crumple
in their empty hands
swollen with the dream
of paradise regained
where the lamb and the lion
lie peacefully together
but such are the illusions
of schizoid automatons
who never wake up
but are wound up
with sweat and tears
in the red dotted fields
sowing the seeds
of the mallet and sword
whose poundings are not gold
but cracked skulls
devoid of choice
for there is no such word
in the forked tongue language
which isn’t utopia
but tyranny with a warm hug
Published 2nd Jun 2024
Author's Note
Long ago I penned this piece, bemoaning the mental poverty experienced due to the rescindment of rights and freedoms under a now relinquished regime. Nevertheless, it seems as though history is repeating itself, as currently the land of the blue and yellow flag is once again beleaguered.
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