Mysterious

Mysterious
Abel Tasman, New Zealand

May 13, 2011

The Political Gnawings of a No-Hope Misanthrope

In a familiar time and place, 

an era of political unrest ensued.
Thirst for power viewed, 
as equality eschewed.



Ideology polemic. 
Utopia rendered culturally bulimic.
Cast into the mausoleum of forgotten freedom
All hope abdicated, 
Yet the bourgeoisie remained frustrated.



The commoner sidelined, 
proletariats in duress
wallowing in the mess of the schism
the intellectual prison of bipartisan legislation
the perspective-migration of a dissident nation, 
pressed like a leech upon the chest.



The big boss flings her gavel upon the gravel
her authority usurped, 
Yet she remains arraigned 
By the people left perturbed. 



A thousand eternities of tyranny, no more.
Sure, but not before a million tears are shed to the floor. 



A multifarious web of responsibility in diffusion 
Wayward, nefarious, obtuse solutions
Concocted by momentary sovereign men 
Cloaked confusion rendered again. 



In this insipid reduction of perforated logic 
political inclinations always precede a dark milieu 
akin to a dark, and life-abhorring abyssopelagic
a tragic, but sobering, right-wing point of view



So this time and place repeats 
before oligarchy and democracy become obsolete
anarchy runs rampant in the streets. 
This bureaucratic diatribe 
shall gnaw at the constitutional community
with impunity, until only truth survives. 

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