Howl: A Note From the Observer

For an observer, I do nothing but watch what has come of my people.

Blinded by golden hills of greed, heedless of the agonised screams. 

Of children whose skin peeled back from flesh, and brittle bone ground to ash. 

People who shed tears for forgotten wars, buried beneath concrete and rubble. 

Their devout soldiers, with bloodied hands, lay asleep in the sands.

Whilst the rest have yet to permit their souls to part from their vessels. 

In a world where explicit relations were practised behind closed doors,

Where children were oblivious to the methods of their existence.

Their smiles and laughter once flooded the streets; replaced with pin-dropped silence; followed by torturous screams of those being stripped of their innocence. 

Bare-skinned, starved, and hypnotised by beautiful illusion.

Unwavering, they fight,  yet their demise is imminent. 

The religion of ancestors buried beneath the carbon-putrid fallacy.

Generations swayed by tampered ideology, so that sustenance dances on their table. 

They do not comprehend starvation. 

What had once been an object of adoration, 

Became a lump of hate brimming beneath the skin of man. 

Their lips are sealed with unadulterated fear,

Impossible for them to fathom that they anger the man in charge.

That is not God. 

Like sheep, they flock, whilst concern marrs their bleated complexion. 

Could their young find the integrity of life before flattery swept away their innocence?

Impossible. 

Programmed. They swore allegiance to the new religion. 

Roam the streets naked, kiss the boy beside you,

Cast aside your morals and adopt the traits of an animal.

Swallowing the voice of doubt as it rears its ugly head.

They fear expulsion and obey their rules without question. 

To be favoured over the dead. 

As opposed to those who turned their nose in distaste, they were cast aside and scorned. 

They didn't dare speak against the elite, for they were the masters of the street.

They plastered a smile on their face and blindly followed their friend's fate. 

When bodies pressed against each other, man or woman, it didn’t matter. 

They smoothed out the creases in their cheeks and replaced absurdity with normality. 

Blasphemy poured into their ears, concealed behind the bouquet of charity. 

Blur the mind, cloud the eyes. 

Manifesting a web of lies, only to be destroyed before the eyes.

It matters not how often you prevail,

You’ll get sucked in; they’ll leave a trail. 

They’ll grip the youth, 

As their innocence brought them pain. 

Clueless pain, they were enticed by the gain,

Burning with euphoria, they pined for more. 

More pleasure, more attention, more desire,

Feeding off the filth thrown in their fire. 

To them, it was the essence of bliss. 

Sparkling like diamonds, their mouths watered, begging to take a sip. 

So the first layer peeled away, unravelling the precious treasures of the Earth.

Fear of God left their minds, and they marched forth. 

Fearless and magnanimous in their game. Drunk on life, while rationality melted away.

Fluid movements, their hips sway. 

Hypnotised, their souls screamed a silent plea. 

Phrases they uttered out of sheer confusion,

Have yet to be identified by those surrounding them. 

No higher than prey, we sink into our little galaxies,

Content, or so we’ve convinced ourselves to believe. 

Assured that we are left alone,

Comfortable in our little world.

We ignore what’s on the surface, 

Just waiting to erupt into a volcanic burst of hidden secrets. 

Unconcealed, we are aware yet remain oblivious to the signs that penetrate.

Tracked and observed in ways that would turn their faces grey.

If only they took heed, if only they put away their comfort. 

And looked at the world through the eyes of the observer. 

Perhaps then they’d see that they are but mere zombies. 

Playing into the hands of the one upon whose head rests Satan’s claws. 

They dance to his tune, calling out his name, and they produce abnormal gestures, forcing us to mimic their movements. 

Euphoria grips our little hearts, and suddenly, we are on a flying stallion.

Soaring through the clouds, in the rear of our minds. Knowing that in moments, we would wake from where we began. 

Enticed by illusion, we do nothing to prevent the events that appear a whisper away. 

Stacked to the brim with wealth, we prefer to nest upon its stealth. 

Convinced that perhaps a mythical egg of gold may magically unfold. 

And before the essence of life is resolved, they'll encase their souls in the mould.