To Rise Again (Greater Heights Have Been Scaled)

Slew foot polygon—a gross manipulator

one in the same—as facts—details—skew the page

for all the ins and outs—

for all the feral symmetry—

for all the finite skills suppressed—

for all the jungle operations hunkered

down—

So deep, that vacuous well—

forever locked—up, down, side x side—

jaw draped—from the random parallels—

between awe—and the every word spoken against, 

in spell—

in prisms—

of polarities—dualities—

beacons—cadmium contrition’s—

acting out—

for the veil of false pretense—

for the guise of diction—

for the holographic mark of time—

for the itch turned untimely cue—

Fate breathers,

henchmen to the idle ones—

content to float through belligerencies—

within broken vessels— meant for

toys, not for man

But who should cast such blame?

Is it he who skips the perfect stone?

Is it she, wielding such a silvered tongue?

or perhaps, it’s just those that need not sweat

yet are still the ones who always get?

the everyman sitting there—

on hands, on knees—trying to find

whatever comes naturally—trying to discover

whatever may come to mind?

—anything, something, anything please—

but what can be done?

but what else is there to do—

when we are many and they are few?

until the skies shift and the tides can turn

we cannot protect against the subsets spurn

when voices meet but never blend

and until they do and we can

 it seems the facts remain the same

that Everyman doesn’t stand a chance

As conditions can’t change

until one voice is heard

as progress can’t begin

until Everyman gathers ears

and states its case

   

The history of mankind is overrun with tales of ordinary men and women fighting the odds and climbing out from the deepest and darkest of pits.  The precedents are right there in the record books, it has been done and can be done again.