Silence the Mouthpiece
An outpouring of vitriol through my pen at the mouthpieces that run our lives
We have been betrayed by those
with whom we never knew we had a bargain.
Mouthpieces affixed to the machine of greed,
that grinds at our heels and sells its benevolence.
Those who drew the corporate line in the sand,
disregarding the human one they crossed so long ago.
Exchanged their souls for the reality of commerce,
knowing full well what the ultimate price was.
A price paid in our blood, paid in our sweat,
our tears. The very cells that we are comprised of
have torn us apart, imprisoned us, and sold us.
A bill of sale conducted in conditioned air.
This barter of hemoglobin and plasma
completed in the surgery of the boardroom.
Lives traded by callous hands free
from the callouses of honest labour.
Painted green and gold to silence the stain
of red beneath an apprentices manicure
bought by the silence of the elite.
Power absolute hoarded in a dragons den.
The circling of sharks around the stricken.
Contracts passed across the bent and broken
backs of those that built their empires,
inked in arsenic and crude.
Paper that binds as iron. A brand upon the fire,
red hot and thirsting to taste the flesh
of the unfortunate soul holding the pen.
A double edged implement, dependent upon its author.
Bindings or breakthroughs, relegation or revolution
two sides of the same coin minted by our hands.
Choices made in conscious consideration
of profit and lives and greed and souls.
The mouthpieces made their decision.
Paid their debt to the golden calf long ago.
Yet neglected their duties to those below, of whom
built upon their backs are their castles of glass.
The time has come for a change of pace,
to stand and shatter their bastions.
Dust the shards from weary shoulders
and take up the pen to author a new contract.
Take back our world, free from the shackles
of convention and convenience.
Silent no longer, prey become predator,
hunting those who thought themselves untouchable.
The catalyst for this change resides inside your veins.
Beating within your chest is the engine,
driving the pistons crashing against the foundations
of their reality. Feed it love, feed it empathy,
and it will power the revolution of the soul.
The clock ticks onward, one minute from midnight,
but it can be slowed, halted, and reversed.
All it takes, is the beating of a single heart, a single fist to the air.
Time is not kind to those who hide in the shadows.
Step into the light, bellow your challenge to the gods,
and take up the pen. Ink your destiny in the stars
and silence the mouthpieces who would betray you.
©Nicholas B Girard 2020
