Unshackle My Verse

Poets Hanging from a Poet Tree Poetry in motion is perilous a dangerous pastime a thing of the anachronistic past in the global villainous village in which minds are colonised for the greater comforting good of synchrony when all are equal at speechless lack of words It is decreed on pain of death that meter rhymes and scripted feelings tercets appealing to the trinity of liberty justice and dignity are abolished from now on that reason must appeal only to the rationale of what the rulers think for us Signs around rebellious broken necks state crystal clear suggest resistance to be futile ‘I am a poet swine and slept with words’ draped from the garrotte of those scribes who could not be reformed in genocidal concentration camps Surely civil society is a better place with those demised who smear the thought police with craft and artistry dreams fantasies and aspirations of a loving kind or critical reflection of virtues happiness not derived from greed or power Will I hang gladly from the tree shout in defiance ‘death to silence long live free expression eat my words’ or would I prefer to save my skin since once the chip to monitor my mind has been implanted all evidence is centrally collected Or underground persistence burrowing subterranean streams of consciousness hacking into silicon and copper in my brain to garble up regimental surveillance short circuit and cross wire all those in power with one massive Trojan virus Scaremongering you think and cynical exaggeration spreading rumours croaking ominous fake news and propaganda well think again and make a plan for how you’ll fare with threat and passion because the trees are there and so are the signs