Interrupt!
Cries the pedagogical precursor,
The soft shimmer of an unwavering display
of calciotropic internment
That comes in like a lamb
And goes out like a lion
A blank symbol of vitriol
displayed across a canvas
of unfathomable perfection,
By what definition you define as perfection,
Redefine your perception,
Stop and listen for once in your life
and begin begging for interrogation.
The shade of exemplary conduct
by an employee who got all too familiar
with their own 4 walls,
so they showed a pain
of which I cannot describe broadly.
An intense volley of blow after blow,
Taking into account the knockback
And ascending into some higher plane
Before waking up in a pool of sweat and tears.
And this is all to say,
what kind of existence is one
where we cannot even smell the
pain, taste it on our lips, feel
the rhythm and witness the
heat broiling within our restrained selves
and work tirelessly on our
silly little issues with god and his machinations.
There’s something uncanny lurking within here,
Some kind of oblique symphony
Obliterating trust and replacing it with
Corrosive conduct,
Absolute order,
Diplomacy without the words that bind it
To that definition.
I had been out of commission,
and when I came back with a mild vengeance
I did discover that all this
Longing and suitable passion
was now available for public access.
How much did it cost to serve,
That fine golden platter of content,
And what sort of antithetical conscription
Did such an act procure?
Was nothing to come of it?
Or did we already fall victim
And are only just now passing blame
Onto the highest bidder
Without regards or unquiet?
When I was younger
I learned of the power to silence.
I was taught of cosines and tangents,
And of corpses long forgotten.
I was moved to some higher calling,
Encouraged to think independent
And rewarded as such.
I learned of this fact only once,
and now I cry thinking back on it forever.
