Red Dead
Red Dead
They do not acknowledge what is clearly seen,
A corruption they blindly celebrate,
But do not admit.
They clasp it closely,
Fetishing and craving its instrument,
They practice its method,
They wear it on their chest.
Loud are their praises,
Even in the face of innocence slaughtered,
Their obeisance is cruel and willful.
For its coin is abundant,
And may be had for what they view as low cost:
A subtraction in the populace is only a number after all.
See there! Its sanctity is writ in bound law!
None may challenge,
It’s divinity assured by document written by man.
Why do they clamor for it so?
Why can they not name it for what it is?
It is Death.
Death.
Slowly has it usurped their instinct for survival,
It rules them and infuses them with malice.
Death.
No longer do they uphold Creation,
Their path now is only destruction.
They would make its apparatus a national pride.
They do not see the mocking mirror,
Beneath all of them the grinning skull.
Death.
They take his gold while denying his influence.
They will meet him soon enough.
So, they worship his tools, while professing life,
And fear his cold breath behind them.
Do they think to hide from him behind the money?
In front of them the naked abyss,
A fear that gnaws them.
They would take us all with them.
Do they not understand?
Everyone dies alone.
What is there to fear from the deep sleep?
Life.
It is worth living.
Sleep later.
Cliff Lake 2/25/2023
Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023
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