The supreme executive’s power derives
from the masses’ mandate, so a man has said.
But isn’t that how we enabled this mess,
where the same-old same-old has ceased to work?
Could the status quo have stayed much longer?
When power comes from the people below,
no Lia Fáil will loose a roar
on the Capitol steps to sustain an election.
Far, far we’ve come from the first Capitol,
a temple of Jupiter in eternal Rome,
when a link to the sacred was a light for all.
’Tis a lucky accident for the beleaguered occident
that’s shaken things up. A shining opportunity
to seek a principle for replacing this swamp.
To see what’s sought, we must certainly strive
for higher things and rehallow our world.
Then sparks of Spirit may speed again
to elect once more the leaders we need
in this atrophied land. So I’m with Them,
the distinguished maidens and the strange women
lying in ponds (in the living Waters),
distributing swords and establishing sovereignty:
the Eternal-Feminine o’er the Eternal-Empty.
(Did you catch the hint in last week’s post that there would be a Monty Python reference today? More typical fare returns next week, with a poem about Freudian tobacco. In the meantime, you could check out my poem about absinthe and my poem about beer.)
Copyright © 2017 Eirik Westcoat.
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