The House of Many Faces

I am the man that feeds the world genetically engineered crops, come take your fill. I am the investor who gives you land your debt can wait, for we know who you are. Multiply and grow fat for I need an army teach your children about us and them and be grateful that you belong to us. For we are civilised so pay the tax that freedom brings you. Tomorrow uncertainty waits time is the rain that washes the future. Famine will always be your brother so hold my hand and walk with me. Should the bee turn its back on you? then nature will focus the brain. To kill for survival is a gift from God, to live is the right of every man. Follow me and the acrid smell of new asphalt shall delete the footsteps of your past. I am you and you are me science will cheat all that is written. End of days will launch the virus and Preachers will look through saintly windows at the gathering headstones. And a child of the world will see fields full of white chairs and wonder “where are the people” The terrorist will kill the innocent Martyrdom their reward and we will watch the TV in silence, As our loved ones fall from the sky. And somewhere in the world the decision will be made. A victim will be selected and a drone will do its duty. Their coffin will be draped in right and wrong, honour to the left and traitor to the right. A holy cross will divide this river for all will cling to the illusion of them and us. God will control the believers political solutions the rest. No race or religion can alter the time the sums will solve survival. Some must die to let me live and I have chosen you, the holy grail of the west to take supper with me. For in all this destruction In all the beauty that has been lost. There stands a human being the perfect spy from above. For in human form the devil exists It is only when we die Can the angel be born? And the writings of poets will be heard no more, the ink will only follow orders. Blue and the green will fear the brown and black will not trust the white. The language of man will fuel the fire and the grey of ash shall win. But in truth who will miss this existence for the angel is a brother of the devil and God is the father of all. Our epitaph will be found Painted on the cave walls of the frightened. Dreamtime will come again and the last child will draw the final image. Of the white chairs waiting in a sea of green and she will pick the last flower that only she can see.