This Vassal State of Man

[First pickings from that golden tree over there just beyond the reach of reason is a poem I wrote way back in 1995. It was a busted spleen vented at the kind of world people like former Canadian prime minister Mulroney have in mind when they get into power. I think it still has currency today.]

What is this vassal state of man
that allows him to be led by another
into darkness and call it daylight?

What is this vessel we call life,
so casually tossed over to the side
of despair and insist that it is hope?

Don’t call me brother
and then ask me to follow
your dim imaginings of reason
wreaking from blood
spilled by ambition.

And don’t oblige me
to couple to the plan
designed to feather your bed
and leave mine empty
and in grief.

No, I won’t listen
to your dead and hollow march
while fools dance in the streets
proclaiming the virtues of ruin
believing paradise awaits
around the corner.

For I have been to your Feasts
and the meat was stone,
the wine vinegar,
and when I excused myself
of your hospitality
I was branded a criminal
and thrown back into the paradise
of fools dancing in the streets
exalting the justice of chains;
proclaiming the thousand lashes of poverty,
“the common good;”
claiming to have seen the light
while climbing over each other
for a crumb of promise
tossed from your table.

You are not my Prince
and I am not your Pauper
who believes in the blandishments
falling from your lips
thinking they are the diamonds
which can save me
from the treachery of opportunity
you too easily call democracy.

mjsalovaara
Oct. 1995