Enigma Megaphones - a poem

Repeat after me,

This is not my ending, I do not want to be finished with this story
and actively rewrite your pages.

This is a simple thing to perceive,
more difficult for people to believe,

But in the end many people are stuck glued with adhesive absolution
that their particular story is written in ink, tattooed into the skin
of their history, and their future.

For what use is prophecy if ultimate endings are determined by futile
gestures, a bigger paycheck, a lucrative advancement for sexual favors

and the people are peddled along, geared and oiled in school
in sanctuary to peddle like bicycle chains the tools that keep economy running
and all the kings men said lay down and die for money grubbers
to have their cake and eat it too.

Repeat after me,

This is a defeatist view of opportunity snatching predators
whose prey is feeble and necessary to achieve social stability,

This is obviously detrimental to bottom dollars but the longer story
is told in chapter and verse, and demands attention for scripture

is often laced with sage advice that is good to consume, and better to digest,
but do not get caught up in hypocrisy, for it is hypocrites who hold better
chain and whip and wish to tarnish ransacked villages,
which never get a leg up before next attack.

The ending can always be changed, but the typist speeds through
with homing missile fingers and clicks and clacks travesty onto pages,
from beginning to end, from opener to finale, as final curtain closes,
and the truth sets no one free.

Repeat after me,

Collisions are avoidable only if no one is rushing to run you over,
as long as the lane is stayed in and no one drums along and deceives us
to head-on collision.

For the sake of saviors, listen to the pleas of smarter men,
and understand that we, us, them, those, are just as dependent as the ant
is to a clump of land.