The story teller is here.
So get ready for an all-nighter.
An epic story of betrayal.
A story of fatal misjudgment and decline,
Of broken compasses
And tumbling gyroscopes,
Of shattered promises and hourglasses.
Of eulogies of homeless
Whose names might otherwise be forgotten.
A story of vast food deserts
Where poison was sold as food.
Of fields of poison soy and corn so vast
The harvesters are lost
Like old toys on Christmas morning.
A story of blood on the hands of saviors,
Of a thousand thousand eyes
Waiting like frogs eggs to be born.
A story of greed beyond measure
And mountains of debt
To pay for never-ending war.
Of behemoths of garbage,
All nicely groomed and grassed over
That breathe because they are alive,
Within sight of oceans
That eb and flow by the moon
But are always rising by centimeters
And will one day swallow all the little ants
And everything they stood for
Even though they were good Buddhists,
Or Christians or Jews or even pathfinders,
Or teachers, or drill-sergeants
Or life-coaches or people working the register at Citco.
A story of gas stations
Strung along great webs of roads
That you might wish went somewhere.
But the story you will hear
Is about maze-like neighborhoods of sterile houses
Each with 5 empty rooms
Where even ghosts could never live.
It will be a story
That begins with a country that lost its soul
And then its shadow just kept growing.
Be kind to the storyteller
When they knock.
Their story, which might rob you of a night's sleep,
Is a priceless gift.
Make sure that they are well-fed
And their chair is right next to the fire.
Your job is twofold:
Make sure the mead is warm,
And when the story-teller says "Ah?"
You respond "Ho".
The story ends when the sun rises.
If it rises.
There is no guarantee.
There never is.
There never was.
(Article changed on Oct 18, 2024 at 10:32 AM EDT)
(Article changed on Oct 18, 2024 at 11:07 AM EDT)