I
The stylists who willingly succeed the old guard
anointed by the trinkets of its presumptions
Sans shame of farce colour their parade full rainbow
and even that “borrowed” from the weather’s own grift;
Hollowed agents of the same, they stand corridor
where every step echoes to a metronome State
And spare their voices to portend richer noises
if ever to account to the people’s self-march;
There, they mourn national death in grand funeral
as once builders became gravediggers and buried
The performance to condemn performing as such
because tears of regret come where the water ends.
II
To dis-re-guard this dead cause and find real grief
outside the stale pattern of total anointment
Against the language of bare sentiment only
but to recolour life before it turns absent
The gap between prayer and action must be undone:
“Reclaim movement from the echo of its reason!”