Danny Celovsky

One man wrapped; In black and white Dictates the atmosphere. Rules existence through control, Through fear, He binds a life to ledger sheets, Blind to what it defines, But actual truth is not A bloodless thing; Locked in systemic lines Despicable designs. They say that truth is absolute When judged by twelve, But twelve Can only look as deep As juries care to delve. The system measure, Right by precedent, Measure wrong by legal code, While honest souls Are left to bleed Along the lonely frozen road. Outside the glass, Systemic engines turn, Cameras start to feed A monster created via Primetime clicks; To serve a negative public need. The blinkered crowd Elects a tarnished Golden King From raw, amoral clay, Pushes up the ladder high Just to watch him sway. Engineered upon the pedestal, Via manufactured praise, Feeding the very vices that Keep media screens ablaze. They hand the keys Of state and power To a hollow man, Then check their watches, Moving fast, To pursue blindly His master plan. But at the root, The only road Is the pursuit of less. Through ego They buy the silence Of the good, They trap the noble, Honest mind, With promises of golden keys Mirrors for the blind. Hope takes hold Of honest hearts To steer them from the slope, But, locks them in a gilded cage Built out of manufactured hope. The less we own, The more we grow; The more authority we dismiss; The more we shall know. The richness of a highborn birth Is stripped of all its power. For truth will break the paper chains Once inside the final hour.