Beliefs

It’s a civilized world.

Struggling in systems,

obsolete machines stink, rust

yet run and govern

while in the background;

a green-room, or a battlefield

music throws up:

Change change change

sound like chained words.

Paintings panic,

cemented cemetery burns in the sun, cries.

In the enslaved mind,

beliefs with stony eyes don’t bend, nor blend,

they cannot even blink.

Open page with known ends

stares blankly at the white moon.