The light, a greenish white, has yet a warmth,
One greater than itself could e’er possess,
It is not physical, this seeming heat,
It is a quality that is endowed
By those who look upon it and feel blessed
Believing what they see has old, historic links,
And is the same kind radiance which bathed
The scene some hundred years ago. The street
May now be filled with passing cars, the crowd
Who walk the pavement might be dressed
In polyester raiment, cheap as chips,
But they are also human, are they not?
Just like their antecedents who forgot
Their fear and fought
For what they felt was right. Such men
Did not succumb, were not disturbed
As rugs were pulled from underneath their feet.
And so it is that those who claim to think we should
Hold fast, each passing year to what is good,
Can practise their delusions and their tricks.
We do not see their treacherous deceit
Beneath tradition’s glow, beneath the soft
Moth pale and iridescent shine,
As every day they seek to undermine,
Those strong foundations upon which we stand
As smashing ancient truths we understood,
They hold abominations up aloft
For praise and to compel us to disown
Our silly, basic instincts. We are banned
From speaking freely, and are shown
The error of our thoughts, derivative,
We’re told, from Fascism. For right is wrong,
There are no certainties,
Black’s white. Good, counter intuitive.
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