Digital Tentacles

 

Invisible data reflects nothing and everything

forged by the living for the living

it fills analog clouds of dread

now replaced by digital sunsets instead

 

Raw numbers are pigeonholed

packed, stored and kept ice cold

Our instincts tell us this cannot be

as too deep is the digital sea

 

In the deepest of elements so dark

lurks tentacles in that wreck unmarked

private treasures within abound

gathered by stealthy tentacles making no sound

 

National security exists without borders

at the expense of all others

and seduced by the daily calm

our freedoms are silently embalmed

 

Then, are lowered into that secret place

where all are naked and safe

living under the cloth of our birdcages

our life is displayed on the NSA stage

 

Wolves are kept away from our door

we never thought of that before

as scoundrels and paranoia guides the State

against those filled with mindless hate

 

 

 

Mouton Noir

 

I saw in the shaded light of day

in a field far away

solitary in the high meadows

where the soft grass grows

 

A sheep all black on the hillside

under the watchful hawks' glide

much like a living sculpture

for my awareness to capture

 

and beneath the lingering light

it brought soulful comfort and delight

as the sun gracefully hung

over the whispering winds that stung

 

like swelling bubbles of pride

growing like flaws despised

and still in the distance stood

a sheep all black and I understood

 

The vision within contained

that weak men fail to attain

that truth and beauty

lies not in the moutons' chromacity