The Fence

This magnificent prison,
how gorgeous its window on the world
(nothing but a dark mirror),
how invisible our captors
(how immense their fears).

What a thing it is, isn't it?
The art of corralling the human spirit!

Our thoughts are all of our freedom
as we follow the yellow lines
proud that it's obedience we are choosing.
How attentive we are to the convolved logic,
how we cling to repeated phrases, manufactured facts,
how rules so malleable seem so unbending to us.

We worship slaves who dress like Cleopatra
and speak like Cicero.
We take our orders from predators
on the other side of the argument
against murder, child molestation, rape...
They do their best work there,
while we contend among ourselves
in smaller debates.

Go to the fence, it's barely noticeable,
see what's there to throw you off the scent:
the media, the brainwashed neighbors, the camera eye.

Granted, some will be sacrificed,
they caused [insert disaster here] to further their plans,
and they leave only pastel shades of opinion
for us to wear like clothes.
But the truth
is not something you can name,
it's more like a feeling
that flows from fact to irreconcilable fact
without regard to the form or the motive.

Life just is, there is no real
argument from those who oppose it.

They are as hidden, and can hold us, just as much
as the non-material power to which we surrender in prayer,
that does not answer, but whose silence
only helps us.