Conspiracy Theories

by Dayran

 

 

 

 

 

There's one in love with the true,

Seductively, as if she is a woman,

There's another whose manner of speech,

Is garbled, cute like a child's innocence.

Then there's the third, a watcher,

A fine young man who feels short-changed.

On the occasions when he speaks,

He is deftly shoved, left breathless,

To what he figures are inquiries of the true.

When he get's a little ahead, he's put down,

Chided and sometimes framed in something,

He didn't do. And this sometimes,

From those who are the pillars of society.

But the kid perseveres and keeps up,

Often ending in some place quite unexpected.

There's the one who lost his mind,

Then others who lost their lives, mysteriously,

There's one who was nailed to the cross.

Why? As a society we teach the kids to pursue,

All manner of knowledge and learning,

No bars, no resistance to it except the child's own,

And yet, like a knee jerk, we suddenly clamp down,

Like an instinct, intuition and sense of the practical,

Where the people who do this also believe,

In the truth of what is the best thing for all.

Such aggravation and anxieties in societies,

That seek to be free with a constitution pledged,

So that the individual will find the truth in himself,

Where there are no conspiracies, no villainy,

But the simple notion that we even play at evil,

In a system that is self constructive, creative,

Of which the world comes to reveal of itself today.

A play, of the mind and heart that the stoutest

In a worship of the sun and its light of sight,

Continously call for transparency hidden in themselves,

Players also in a game in which we lose,

Only and only, if we fool ourselves.