THE GREAT WHALE'S MOUTH OF COMMON SENSE

No, Phillip, I won’t be draped

in red-or-blue parade;

the screen hums like a hornet’s hive,

its truths all shadows made.

For though I vote with weary hands,

the echo’s just a hum�"

a stage for all the masked demands,

where outcomes never come.

a-leaning on the edge of thought�"

(flickering lights ignite)

the bulletins and breaking news

dissect the endless fight:

(ding! ping! buzz! spin!

hear the headlines bite.)

a-scrolling through the threadbare scroll

of digital daylight.

If suits and ties who forge the laws

were lashed to feel our ache�"

if every keystroke drew the blood

their tweets and memos take�"

perhaps the world would spin less mad,

its gears not fed on lies,

and every slogan’s hollow cry

be silenced by the skies!

Staring into pixelled truth,

I marvel at the maze�"

a billion hearts, all shouting loud,

still wander in a daze!

(click! clack! doom! bloom!

chaos fills the gaze.)

the algorithms feed the fire,

each dawn another haze.

They call this age a gilded dream,

of freedom’s holy fight�"

yet ask the soul, and it will scream

beneath the neon light.

The cause, my friend, was never ours,

though banners fill the air�"

for those who preach, behind the glass,

don’t breathe the common care.

Someday, perhaps, this earth will spin

without its charlatans�"

when Phillip, Sue, and every voice

reclaims their simple hands.

no screen, no flag, no polished creed

shall tether what we are:

a world unbound, its fractured hearts

set free beneath the stars.

:: 12.07.2024 ::