Jan 2020
The towers are centuries tall
built by hand, block by block
perch on the cliffs equally deep
ready for wayward miscreants
more than souls are there enclosed
also power sits on the throne
ruling masses with a hand
ready with the whip to lash
this status-quo is nearly spent
when multitudes leap to deaths
leaving for the netherrealms
away from dogma's weary quest
holding supplicants in crumbling cells
with doors wide open to prisoners
those who seek to escape
will leave the towers in their wake.
© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200108.
built by hand, block by block
perch on the cliffs equally deep
ready for wayward miscreants
more than souls are there enclosed
also power sits on the throne
ruling masses with a hand
ready with the whip to lash
this status-quo is nearly spent
when multitudes leap to deaths
leaving for the netherrealms
away from dogma's weary quest
holding supplicants in crumbling cells
with doors wide open to prisoners
those who seek to escape
will leave the towers in their wake.
© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200108.
The poem “The Towers” was inspired by thoughts about people leaving organizations. To outsiders, the discrepancies and dogmatic contradictions are enough to push anybody out. The reasons to stay seem to out weigh these nudges. Still, some seek the exits when the fabric of belief fails.
