The End of the Grand Romance

Annette Kalandros

February 13

photo courtesy of @Liliwhitwhit on X

 
 
Nonsense things of twisted rhetoric 
hang around the neck of a nation. 
Words braided into twisted doctrines 
of red and black and white. 
 
Hatred fought so long ago 
blended into now 
with a new pandemic  
in the wake 
of aberrant dreams. 
Here where truth once 
swayed and danced, 
offering humanity 
a grand romance 
of belief in a thing 
the world had never seen-- 
Golden rules made real. 
 
We knew our daughters and sons 
would serve as the sacrificial lambs 
to keep our rules golden 
for all generations to be free. 
 
 
 
Though freedom be washed 
in the blood of our lambs, 
we still believed 
in the grand romance-- 
And oh, how we did dance 
For over two hundred years. 
 
Then the roped nonsense came,  
tarnished the shine of our romance,  
interrupted the rhythm of our dance. 
The twisted rhetoric strangled us 
as a new sickness spread. 
No ease given; no treatment sought. 
Pockets lined with gold  
more important than golden lives. 
 
Hatred and apathy listened 
to the new prophet, 
who said they were right-- 
Everything wrong was  
the fault of others: 
The poor in spirit are just lazy. 
Those who mourn make excuses. 
The meek are just weak. 
Those wanting righteousness want it all free. 
The pure in heart want to give your gold away. 
The peacemakers don't want us to be strong. 
 
Then the new prophet claimed he was the persecuted one, 
promising vengeance for his own sake. 
His apostles believed his sermons, 
proclaiming him their chosen one. 
 
Order is all, 
He said. 
Law is all, 
He said. 
 
He would teach them 
by putting all people 
in their rightful place. 
 
Justice lay raped, 
bloody, raw, 
beaten and gassed, 
in the streets  
as his disciples cheered 
while the petty false prophet smirked, 
holding a Holy book. 
Re-forge the chain of Liberty's shackle, 
he ordered. 
 
Then Truth  
stopped swaying, 
stopped dancing, 
offered us nothing, 
flames of romance dying.