(“Democracy means despair of finding any heroes to govern you, and contented putting up with the want of them.”)
There are no heroes, I am in despair,
There’s only one great fool with bleached, blonde hair,
And up with this I really cannot put,
So sweet contentment never fills my soul,
And yet I needs must keep my mouth closed shut,
And dream in silence, for each silly poll
Of men’s opinions shows I am alone,
And others, as imprisoned as am I
Rejoice in their confinement, and atone
For eating, speaking, meeting up with friends,
As for a mortal sin. They think that death
Stalks all the land, cuts short and makes last breath
More painful than the norm. And fear attends
Their every waking hour, and they spy
Upon their neighbours, whom they cannot trust
And treat them not with love, but with disgust.
(“The first duty of man is that of subduing fear”.)
Where is the man who might subdue their fear?
The hero, not an actor, empty, fake,
With spiteful face behind a mask, and near
At hand a set of props, a graph, a chart,
Designed to prove there is no small mistake,
For he counts only exponential gains
And uses marvellous scientific brains,
To squash the worthless crying of the heart.
(“Hero-worship is strongest where there is least regard for human freedom”.)
Yet we must pause and question the idea
Of hero worship and the one great man,
Where freedom’s held as naught from year to year,
We needs must live as wisely as we can.