We shall keep the poor poor.
We shall be on them like
a master's whip on the backs
of slaves;  but they will not
know us: we are too far and
too near. We shall use the
patois of patriotism to patronize
them. We shall hide behind our
flags, while we hold only one pole.
We shall have the poor fight our
wars for us, and die for us;  and
before they die, they will **** for
us, we hope, enough. In peace,
we shall piecemeal them, and serve
them meals made of toxins and tallow.
For their labor, we shall pay them
slave wages;  and all that we give,
we shall take back, and more, by
monumental scandals that subside
like day's sun at eventide. We shall
be clever, as ever, circumspect and
surreptitious at all times. We shall
keep them deluded with the verisimilitude
of hope, but undermine always its
being. We shall infuse their lives
with fear and hate, playing one
race against another, one religion
against a brother's. Disaffection is
our key;  but we must modulate our
efforts deftly, so the poor remain
frightened and angered, but always
blind and deaf and divided. And if,
perchance, one foments, we shall
seize the moment and drop his head
into his hands, even as he speaks.
This internecine brew we pour, there-
fore, into the poor to keep them drunk
enmity and incapacitation. Ah,
eternal anticipation! Bottoms up,
old chaps! We, those who rule,
shall have them always in our laps.
We are, as it were, their salvation.

Tod Howard Hawks

Laid down, the only answer that can be given.
Clearer light, separate and distinct, from the same fountain.
Ambition, to counteract ambition.
Human nature, to reflect on human nature.
Angels were to control itself.

Divide and fortify. Natural defense, safety. Absolute negative connection between this weaker and the weaker.
All the power surrendered.
Evil will render This, turned against, broken into.
Justice is the end, pursued until it be obtained, or lost in the pursuit.
Unite and oppress, anarchy to rein as a state of nature,
not secured against the violence.

you and i were running laps
i in blue sneakers, you in red
just a friendly competition
i had a bad limp
i was keeping pace with you
i drew attention to my leg
how i fought not to wince
every time my foot hit the gravel
how i’d been kicked
by someone wearing red sneakers
right before we began
it made you uncomfortable
defensive
angry
and you pointed to your leg
showing a similar bruise
from when you’d tripped and fell
earlier that day
  you don’t get it
you said
  you can’t complain
  because i have a limp too
  and the coach accounted for it
  and gave me a headstart
you said
  but i do
i said
  because i started last anyway
  and the coach “didn’t see” my bruise
  and no one ever will
i said
but you had already left
to run with someone less depressing
less sad
less me
but what i hadn’t gotten to tell you
is that you don’t get it
i had a limp from birth

Stitched from pieces of Truth
Making a tapestry of a Lie
The signature handiwork
Of the Father of Lies

To which the wicked proudly cling
As vindication and justification
To beat the Truth
To submit to the Lie