A Poem Of Sorts
Over the last approximately twenty years I have driven probably a hundred thousand miles around the country. You can get to thinking when you see the scale of the thing. In my opinion, the U.S. is largely uninhabited. Yes, there are many cities. Most of the land mass is outback of some kind.
In addition, while I am musing, it occurs to me that the powers who would like to farm us like cattle have no idea what is going on out here. The real economy, the real culture, how the people live is an unknown to them.
Why is it unknown? Because their only input is from each other. It's a closed system. A loop, filled with conniving hopeful delusion. I believe that it is also a rather successful attempt to control the thought processes of the masses. Its also a natural selection process. If you have your head in their media, they have your head.
In a way it gives me a wry chuckle and some confidence. They don't know what we are up to! Its hard to hit a target that you can't see.
They can hurt the people, and they have hurt the people, but they can't get around us completely.
I picture it a bit like this... a globe like this planet, complex and busy. The usual suspects inhabit a tiny island somewhere and they think what goes there goes everywhere. They are wrong.
The mysterious work of God and man on earth will always give them the slip in the end.
As for the poem, I wrote it a couple of days ago thinking it humorous that everyone wears these blue britches known as jeans, and what a neat metaphor for the people it was. I don't call us common for good reason.
***
Blue Pants
They don’t know us.
Though they think they do.
For they read all about us in what they wrote about us.
They don't see the pattern of the people.
*
I have seen the obscure secret miles in person.
I was attending to the people.
I was listening to and watching what the people do in truth.
*
They really don’t know what we do.
But they bear a terrible vision of what we should do, to serve them.
*
They cannot bear our effrontery, how we dare to exist in spite of them.
How our lives are our own, and how we stand before God, rather than them.
*
We are the people in blue pants.
They try to wear our blue pants, but they don’t know how.
They are too clean.
Too contrived.
Too derivative.
***
Am I making any sense at all?
💔
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