The walls of the imperial city look imposing
Magnificent, eternal, impenetrable.
But look closer; they are only video images
Projected on tattered cotton screens.
The weapons of the imperial city
Are fearsome, ingenious and powerful, but all they do
Is destroy. They can’t build or maintain anything,
So in the end, they always lose the war.
The City’s voice once crooned songs of power, freedom, progress.
Now it screams discordant messages of fear.
Of outsiders, of each other, of a hundred dangers
Lurking outside and within the walls.
Inside the City, streets reek of desperation.
Hungry people huddle in alleyways, while up the hill
The rich are feasting, pipes corroding
Bridges crumbling, Only the video games still work.
The emperors rely on their increasingly
Warlike police, but those men are starting
To ask, ‘What are we defending here?’
Even they see the City’s ways are not their own.
So why is the City still standing?
Its fantasy machine still has power; it
Divides people, confuses and frightens them
We have had no alternative, only old voices with stale messages.
But now there are New voices with new ideas
People willing to say what was off-limits a year ago.
Some of them are getting elected.
As people become more angry and desperate,
.The magic bullet called Corona
Has canceled the distractions and excuses.
Dawn approaches. The time has come
To bravely speak our dreams into reality.