Greek Chorus II

There are those who would have us work
More than we need to, day in, day out
At joyless tasks, producing surplus value
For them
Because they succeeded in creating a system
Through centuries of struggle
That runs on deceit and avarice and accumulation
They wanted it O! so badly And they got it
Work child – work harder
Longer, faster
Surplus value is their God
To whom the tortured bodies
Of the exploited are offered up
Save the expense of burnt offerings
Let them lie where they fell
Or shove the cadavers into a pit
And burn them there
The putrid smokes of Hell
Ascending to the God of Surplus Value
Pound of flesh?
Nay, they want it all
Burned, unburned, it matters not
As long as IT produced Surplus Value
So get out there and Get a Job
Sonny boy, girlie girl
OR, come to our inner sanctum
And learn the holiest of holies:
How to accumulate the Surplus Value yourself
Then you’ll be a Success
They’ll write books about you
Make movies, comic books, commercials
Starring YOU
Your developing skills of deceit
Are the ones to be rewarded
Clever girl, cunning fellow
O! So clever, so cunning
Accumulate and buy, Buy, BUY
Buy your security in the Halls of Power
Call these Halls “democracy” if need be
Use your cleverness to paint it so
So . . . democratic
But you know better
Because you’re clever, O! so clever
But beware the “Baby Jesus” living
The living spirit that is within
And without
And moves through all things
The spirit knows your falseness
And you can kill and oppress and imprison
But the Life Force will still be there
Knowing who you are and what you do
Reaching beyond names
EVERYWHERE.

 

©2020 Douglas Harvey (nom de plume: Figment Zenguitar)

 

Greek Chorus

Born into a world of strangers
Do they want YOU or a fantasy in their mind?
And if you're not the latter, which you're not
You try to make yourself into that
Because you know that's what they want
And they are shopworn and cynical and
Are themselves representing a falseness
That is institutionalized
Protected by cultural flotsam that accrues
To hide the Truth
And you try to understand
Thinking that everyone wants the best for you
And you are rewarded when
The false self begins to accrue and conceal
Or punished for your authenticity
Self-medication or idle distraction or both
Become what seem to be survival skills
That are killing you
Maybe you are four years old
Or maybe you are eight years old
Or maybe you are twelve years old
But there are moments of clarity
That are also hidden because
If seen they are attacked
THAT will not be permitted
So you will have to choose
What seems like a choice between
Yourself or your family
But you don't know that's the choice
You're too young to know
And so, like the white man in blackface
Who uses the mask to be authentic
But it isn't, but it is
And confused you try again
This authenticity or acceptance
No, THAT'S the choice
BUT you have no tools, no role model
To learn self-esteem, self-support
Self-nurturing, self-acceptance
So now you've split in two
The child, frozen in time, ignored, left behind
The child is the "Baby Jesus," the Buddha, your Chi
But then -- one fine day . . .
So this is the story
THE STORY
To be or not to be
Slings and arrows, indeed.