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My mind has been clay
atop a potter’s centrifugal tray –
in between the fingers and thumbs of unseen hands
message-ing my brain…
making it numb to the pain inflicted for ill gotten gains.
Conflicted, I should be, but he reshaped my shame.
Though I struggle to retain my form,
his brainstorms and comic media showers overpower.
Before long, I am transformed.
Doc-īle in the face of hos-tīle takeovers by Rothschilds in Range Rovers in their new world make-over!
Same song… once the break’s over.
But revolutionaries make breaks replay like DJs
to give the sleeping giant time to grow in its defiance;
and as the tables turn, we relearn our self-reliance
(since dependence on these tyrants is what ensures our compliance).
Still, they infiltrated our movements.
Same song…economic improvements for the few who got the traction to go platinum,
while fewer still who went mogul…got taken global –
flashing illuminated gang signs.
A zero-sum total in the sane minds of the hopeful!
But this is how they play us:
Expertly manipulate us like stop motion figurines.
Damn Rudolph and his red nose!
They still taking us for blithering fools until great Gaia smashes all to smithereens!
Leaving me a shard – broken but free of the jar that had been me –
now mentally hard and sharp enough to draw blood from the potter.
-HymnAgen
