SINS FOR SUNDAY by David Erdos - Poem 24 from THE PEOPLES PRISON
Poem 24 from THE PEOPLES PRISON
SINS FOR SUNDAY
Turn the world
upside down and you will catch
Some of
Australia’s headache. As that sudden
Blood rush
turns to migraine, the revolt of the soul
Breaks through
skin as the police can through doors
Without cause
or permit, making every private
Home their own
outback, from which even stepping
Outside
provokes sin. This stricture started in August
And runs
alongside heat and harsh weather,
Draconian
measures by which oppressive regimes
Attain scale.
Victoria Premier Daniel Andrews decreed
That there was
no reason to leave your homes whatsoever.
As democracy
is dismantled, society itself’s up for sale.
We have cried
across tiers, naturally for ourselves,
Yet beyond us Klaus
Schwab’s ‘Great reset’ has been
Essayed; all
its waiting for now is the mark. From some
Higher power
that states the means by which we’ll start
Over, freshly
scrubbed by a vaccine, to enter and yield
To the dark.
Certainly, it would seem to be a police state
Down under
there as officers smash partly opened Car
Windows. Under
curfew’s claim full disclosure
Is the only
way to avoid a glassed scar. The term
‘The Full
Nazi’s’ been used in a Melbourne newspaper,
After 147
Covid deaths were reported and then
11 more tipped
the chart. Under specific pretext
They’ve said,
the seed of predestination is planted.
And the
numerous weeds that spring from it
Turn their
Winter heat to fear’s ice, as the Police
Will check in
anytime, taking the place of your
Neighbours to
criminalise Bruce and Sheila,
Whilst
wrenching the word fate from fatal to make
Even Ned Kelly
tremble as civil liberties shatter,
And others are
taken under the thumb and boot, heel
And knife.
Covid is seen over there as a PR campaign
For the
fascists. Last year the flu killed more Aussies,
But then their
Stasi like stance was not set. But now
The
conspiracies soar as the cricket balls did, or the surfers
But not in a
fanciful way; there, its practise. With curfew
And discussion
raging from restaurant banning to echoes
Of Bill Gates’
dire warning that until global
Vaccination is
completed the life we remember
Will be the
very first thing to forger. And so the vast
Australian
landmass becomes a testing ground
For the
future. As we shuffle forth the screens
Watch us as we
in turn join through screens,
Talking
towards glass as the world becomes
A huge test
tube, which always has a petri dish
By it, in
which the mutation of germs looks obscene.
A former
trigger’s been pulled, but who my friends
Is the target?
Who is deciding the what and the where
And the when?
As Science saves, a host of other
Strikes have
been started. I don’t wish to ruin
Your Sunday,
but 2021’s coming fast. What will end?
People are
hoping for a return to the green, but what if
That shade’s
set by Soylent? I’ve mentioned this before
But such
fictions are all too prevalent now. They inspect.
Who would have
thought that George Orwell would actually
Become our Big
Brother, but one who in administering
Warnings is no
longer there to protect. Man and Mother
Nature divorced.
And now that familial faith has been
Questioned. It
is a form of sibling rivalry as we suffer
In which a bad
relationship just infects. And one that
Would be paid
for of course by the systems that swamp
And surround
us: especially those that stay hidden
And who in
being borne aloft, can spear fact. Such as
The WEF’s
Summit Peak due in January in which
That great
reset I have mentioned will form the agenda
As the World
Economic Forum discusses how the play
Around a
pandemic can deliver of course a new act.
2008’s money
fall revealed how each system has toppled.
Now their
rebuilding requires a new kind of stone.
Will this be
one made from bones, or from the flesh
That we offer?
Microchip mountains, or blood
In the pipes
of each home. Who is behind it?
Who knows.
Schwab sketches it for us. But to see
The full
painting or the grander tapestry will take
Time which we
are running out of it seems, as squirreled
Away winter
freezes and hibernation endangers
An active
means now to climb the broken ladder
Towards the
former home of the Giant; the one whom
Young Jack
befriended, at a time when horrors and scale
Were mere
tales. Now they are not and nobody fully
Knows what’s
been written. It will have been done so
In code and
not language, but in experiencing it
We may pale.
The Australian bush fires burned and took
So many things
with them. Now that vast expanse
Looks like
parchment detailing how a Genesis may reverse,
Or indeed be
begat, as we all wilderness walkabout
Still
continues. Mine’s a Bungalow long. While down
Under and in
our souls themselves each thought hurts.
So, line up.
Move along. But let us not forget Mussolini.
He got the
trains running faster, just as other
European lines
passengered those of my stamp,
Delivered to
smoke that keeps rising. These are
Old sins for
this Sunday. So, beware:
Cold can burn
us. And even silence too.
That’s absurd.
David Erdos, December 27th
2020
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David Erdos |
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