The Social Contract

A Poem by Dean

Pounding arteries and desperation feeds the moment.
It is time's deception--the creation
of a game across the void; the ethic steps aside
and there the contact lies
just beyond the grasping fingers of possessiveness,
just above the singeing flame of despair.
It's artifice, the rules the day--
a recognition of convenience,
a hollow prayer before the time to sleep.

And so the smugness settles in.

The key turns in the lock
thus rendering society
in slavery to the self--business prospers;
vox populi is "mine"
the country club enriched,
partisam agenda well advanced,
Carnegie cannonized.

Never so secure, as in the face of guile,
a sordid sense of virtue brings unique reward
as children learn to sing of fatherland,
security and castle walls eschewing weakness,
marching to the hymns of victory,
extolling holy lust in enterprise.

Just there, the beckoning pinnacle
for one to own. Assertiveness
at every turn is father to respect,
a call to be responsible, to lead,
the real creating force with one-on-one.

This innuendo with a smile,
is this our legacy
to those who plant the flowers above our heads?
Is this the single-minded chaos of desire,
the higher good,
inflating error to the point of flight?
Lofted far beyond perception
by escaping wings of personality,
then racing down the cold-walled canyons of the free?
Of course!
Oh, pardon me...
I seem to have forgotten your name.
~