The Promise of Prophecy

The Promise of Prophecy

Come, let us visit together the Theatre of Thought

To widen our understanding of the workings of the World Mind:

We can enter by the stage door to find

Old Poet waiting in the wings with a bulging bag of words

While Avarice sings on centre stage

Its siren songs to a hypnotised humanity

And Philosophy sits sleeping in its private box

Mumbling to itself in its dreams

And awaking occasionally only to applaud

And all the poor people sit below

Munching on their popcorn and peanuts

A captive audience in a polystyrene paradise -

They cannot hear the screams of their own souls.

But when Old Poet's patience fails

And he erupts on stage to scream:

"Awake! Arise! Reclaim your lives!"

He is mistaken for a madman or a drunk

And is hauled away by a tinplate policeman

To a padded cell in a hollow hell

And left to cool his heels and heal his head.

But Poet will have his day when daylight comes.

When the seats will have rotted

Beneath the besotted slaves

The lights will fail, the curtain fall

A hole will open in the wall

And in will rush the rays of the rising sun.

And the survivors,

Those who have not rotted in their seats

Will stumble through the rubble

Across the strewn stones

Out into a green and golden garden

Where flowers bloom and bees hum

And they will find him there

Waiting beneath the trees with hoe in hand.

And he will welcome them to the Promised Land.