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"Strange Vampires"

all those years 
ago, when conspiracies
flourished around 
did we or didn’t we go 
to the moon, when we
were once human,
proved to be lies,
whichever way 
the dark shadows 
conveyed it.

the truth 
came out much later, 
that the moon 
wasn’t made of cheese
but uncannily like a story 
of Jedi simulation,
it was a hollow starship
anchored, monitoring us -
we, the wrong side of town
unsuspecting neighbour.

we were their petri dish
germinating;
wars, biotechnology
killing all types of aliens.
free basing the syncopating
aspects of our lives that
were found to be sorely 
lacking poetic aesthetics,
our inherent nature, naturally
Neanderthal and combative, 
took a torturous nose dive.

we were overzealous
and jealously competitive
in our primate classification.
the majority,
all too self-absorbed
to see the matrix dissolving 
in front of our eyes; and when 
the minority began to notice 
the mandalas glitching, well -
the game was almost over.

blind like lab rodents
who’d spent too long inside
staring at repetitive screens,
we were put on our consistent 
rotating wheels,
made to scamper 
the same routes daily,
grasping for material wealth
and advantage over lesser others.
we were coerced to sign agreements
for inoculations and later, like cattle,
RFID became our ear-marked law 
and we were all re-ordered,
the new order became our 
ruling congregation.

when it came to communion
the wine was poisoned,
blood became a selling point
to life exchanges banked in 
Orwellian psychosis, like 
lab mice mixed in with vicious rats 
we began to display odd behaviour,
turning on each other like
emotional cannibals,
we ate each others’ hearts out;

strange vampires,
some with a beating heart still
trying incessantly, some might say
like diehards, desperate to display 
their disparate Light sides,
encouraging a last minute 
shoot for the goal posts,
winning for the team 
before the end game bell rings 
and the cheer squad sings like 
glistening busty blonde wet lipped angels
next to a green billed mascot
like a biden stork on a platform 
standing awkwardly on a soapbox
flapping its freedom wings 
to elevate its higher calling, 
delusional and unsuspecting, 
the ancient geezer is knocked over by a hardball, 
that sacred over-played trump card 
thrown onto the panicked and now petrified court,
to carry all babies safely home.

by then the wretched distress
and anxiety to win is evident,
and the small crowd left seated
like strange puzzle pieces,
all chanting war cries
for the same team,
are deemed unnecessary,
and being the revolutionary
lesser evil and terribly obedient,
they remain sitting tight
praying not to be blown apart,

beckoning a saviour 
who they believe 
like a Zeppelin will 
arrive via burning clouds 
on time - 

is really, the odd one out
standing and still clapping 
loudly and yahooing 
next to those poor wretches
seated in the bleachers;
never once has
that one been watching 
from the side lines, 
but with them all along.
that one’s still rooting
like a true revolutionary for 
the small group 
of well-mannered vampires,
although the numbers, 
it would seem, are stacked
well against them.

The odd one still standing 
sends a signal 
to the mother ship 
for a salutary beam-me-up, 
sighing, it all gets a bit too much 
from time to time
and one requires a little R&R, 
is the terminating thought.
this all considered, 
while glancing at the 
minute hand 
on the android...
ever on the alert.

(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
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