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“O human race, born to fly upward,
wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?”
― Dante Alighieri

Tale told by an idiot,
truth dances within phrases and idioms,
idols and freely trafficked infants,
plaintiffs sniffing on brown envelopes,
eloping to a better home, bury
Africans over chrome, African babies
with shacks as homes; Europeans
anxious for prom, walk towards the
kingdom, the kings are lost, Queens
dancing to the frequencies of white Marilyns,
consciousness is part of showbiz,
walk towards the light in a row,
Monroe doctrine; minds colonized;
slaves of sorts; back and forth.
Truth revealed and towed from an
enclosed box to a corporate publishing
corporal to corner stores, revolution
with pockets awaiting coins, everything
and nothing matters no more, truth over matter,
what matters is matter, martyrs of
ledgers and badly written self-published
pieces of mind, marvel over speculation
and sweet lies, roll the dice; the elite
is the man in your mind, or the
elite is the man selling the poems
about meaningless lives, freedom
never arrives, the future is steadily ripe,
maybe what’s lost needn’t not be found,
taxes used for malice, poverty line
and Mr Price, standing for us is a cover-up,
the system with it’s upper cuts,
Canaan might be in a glance,
debauchery of the butchered and victimized,
auction of the martyred Israelite.

Lose the need to feel free,
swallow your cyanide from that
divine tree, flee from everyone’s
crumbling words, it’s tumbling laws
and biased ways of the constitutional man,
depend on one man’s ways for history
to sway, we’re in the age of the damned,
the revolutionary hearts are paid to rant,
paid to play the wise-man on television
frames, destroy your mindsets; the
television tells tales, its fake facts
and dying povertous overcautious
law abiding peasants, its citizens
developing a city zen for a better
prosperous direction, its the search of
emancipation and falsified speculations,
broken struggles, and forever oppressed
peasants, merchants selling pages
written by hidden sages, servants,
dream-catchers of Martin’s REM
as he slept, sweep the scent of tombs
from the streets, fools with wise
guidance; from those stooping too
low to rule the cabinet and leaving
politicians as puppets searching for a
mild expectancy to fulfill in time before
the campaigns.
Its a crime for honesty, its the dead
man’s sophistry, Hitler’s anarchy,
ideals are falling dominoes, pieces
with no weight within, walking with
fiends, these public friends are
beasts within, the rich are building up
monasteries, let us move within the
tunes of coins falling into fountains that
supposedly grant immortality, we are
humanely inhumane from the breast
to the grave, we forgave the womb for
summoning our shells, now the tomb
awaits to crack those shells, we dine with time.

Is it a Marxist wake? Where the producer
is a Medusa at work, awakened and
dominating like Eden’s serpent,
its present and the future seems
too bleak, the mind needs a means
to be free, its a comedy from up high,
drink the Nile, bring the end nigh,
bring the apocalyptic mind, the chips
and the numerical beliefs, the
supremos are illustrating whatever is
believed, those beneath bereaved by
the death of their saviors and learning
to bow to the elite’s toes, wash
their sole while they step on their souls,
its foul play and a lack of a mental
backbone, a class-transition leads
to an academic thinking, budgeting
and saving for a better housing,
lousy thinking and another falls
into Evil corp’s entanglement, its
a fall of man and we cannot even
see it, its social grants while another
spends that total on a cup of coffee,
apply that miracle lotion from a poor
shaman claiming you’ll be prosperous
while he’s povertous, get your potion
of the pearly gates, awakened mind
we’re falling down into the ridges
of oppression, feel the tension
while they mention your mindsets
within those academic psychology articles,
your poverty tickles the market’s glutes,
find yourself in this forest dark,
where brutes grant false truths
to those in need of eyes to look,
this forest is too dark, just find your
guilty pleasures and justify your leisure
and giggle with your treasures,
or just love your simplicity; your
conglomerate’s rewards for sacrificing
your dignity.

“Lost are we, and are only so far punished,
That without hope we live on in desire.”
― Dante Alighieri

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Roby Dwi Antono

℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗

2020 All Rights Reserved ©

Divine Comedy

Consider your origins: you were not made to live as brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.

– Dante Alighieri

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