Chaos, chaos
rabble, rabble—
the typhoon rage that
is the mob, the masses,
the people united by
a culture—teachings
passed down from parent
to child, the storm feeds
on their fear of the present,
the past, the future.

The mob sits on a point—
easily pushed to one side
or the other, on a fulcrum
for toddlers to play with
their empty rhetoric that
sounds full of honor and
truth but is a void as the
chaos and rabble that is
the hurricane of emotion
when people gather.

Loki, that Red Hood,
whispers his sweet
rhetoric from the
Capitol, from the pulpit
to marshal the people
on to action—action
without reason, order
of pillars an columns
torn down to the ground.

“Let there be.” Words of
order, hope, structure.
Words with rhyme, meter,
lines—all purposed by its
Creator to impose a logical
beauty upon an empty world.
Chaos → Order
Vain → Meaningful
Formless → Shape
Rabble → Serenity.

Where are the Creator?
Why has she left us to
the storm and fear,
willing to hear Loki,
that Red Hood, and his
sweet rhetoric spoken
from the Capitol. Wisdom
is vanquished. Chaos reigns
if but words with rhyme,
meter and line are spoken.


~ by hankimler on September 5, 2015.

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