Rise up in revolt,
Cast aside both your crutches,
Heave up and high over your head,
Cresting on summit that curse, cursed chair,
Condemned death location of plans unprepared.
Then wheels spinning cast it,
To who cares where.
Lookers look brow down, with mannerly stares,
And passing in out and in out of your room,
Forget completely the sweeps of their brooms.
Denying your essence, your soul under carpet,
Is swept as the victim, for you are their target.
Reverse all those entities forcing infirmity.
Release from their cells, fraud notions, modernity.
Embrace with a passion, a memoried life.
Like butterfly on buddleia, caress plants to life.
Fragrance laced thoughts, of a past you might fill,
Your mind might free wander, jump steps,
Stepping stones, feed your hungers.
And in time, at a place, you can rest and be free.
When progress’s mask is revealed, all can see.
Then you could teach us at which of the turns,
Our course was in error, our pursuits of the mirror.
We will plead and entreat you, that we are correct,
But you will know, in every aspect,
Your suffering served as a great seat of learning,
While we all those millions were selfishly earning.
So stay to your course, don’t deviate off,
Our singular hope is that you don’t get lost.
If we might use you as our guiding light,
To bright up the dullness of progress’s blight.
One day in the future there’s a slim thinly chance,
We could join your uprising and likewise seed plants.
© Sam McKeon 2015
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