without liberty

the world is a heavy lift

 

a reoccurring struggle of all against all against all where

the warrior fights for his glory

the high priest weaves his story

and the blind poet stumbles on the mountain side and falls

at the feet of men and speaks of

a promise of a future thicker than their borrowed blood

as a boulder weighs down upon them on the mountainside

 

so the brutes get to work with their

backs, logs, pulleys, and scaffolding,

whips, fires, nooses, and chains,

guns, smokes, powders, and poisons,

and the poets and priests shout their

threats, hype, hope, and blame

and they carry the rock up the mountainside

to the pinnacle once again where

philosopher kings reside in unsullied white tunics sipping wine

 

THEN

a bloody smear

a lowly stamp

a fatal struggle

stains the summit red

with the blood and wine of the kings’ primate pride that

their cleverness was more clever than

the cleverness of most men when they deemed

all others’ cleverness a sin

 

BUT

clever is clever is clever

sin is sin is sin

and like a red moon

turned to a red dawn

the boulder falls downhill again

 

without liberty

the world is a heavy lift