From all around the silent sound of shadow
casts doubts, suspicion and danger, obscures the way to change.
Silent the sound yet still we flee in flight to fight the shadows    
of some supposed specter.           
White picket the sword, self-righteous the shield,          
to fend off the foe we wield.

What is this diminisher of hope and limiter of all victories gained,
that holds diminuendo till silent the hope fades away?

It grips the spirit in restrain and defeats more wonders than we will know.
Awareness, the armor against this phantasm’s game.        
All fear, but most fear change.
It is how it has always been; it is how we’ve always done:
senseless solace to safely slumber in, content, unaware of newborn’s hope,
assuaged, eyes closed, diminished once again.
In stealth through whispering wires, silent whistles on the air transept
Now Signal fears . . . of fear itself --- Great words, once meant to transcend                            
The seed of fear implanted, vilest of all sleight of hand.
Phantom fear fed the flame that forged mock yellow cake.  
The way we fed and raged on cue! In fear we were led again.  


Blood drained, gold gained . . . bow ye by loathsome men.
Now behind the wall we are fed again.    
Placebo, prophylactic farce we pretend–now safe from–them?
Demons o’er all the doors–alas, fear’s chain remains.
Fear’s vile serpent’s chore complete;
its hiss remains; we cannot change.
“’Twas ever thus, ‘twas ever thusss”
Forevermore our sad refrain?
  
In a shadow in a cage,
old things pass away,
and new things become new along the way.