Strange Vampires
"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)
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2022
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