The dreamer counts the days, the hours, the points in his elaborate plans,
stacks up his moves until everything is laid out clear inside
his head, itemized, ready for execution (when the time is right)
Into the arena of the great outdoors he plans to venture,
out of his subterranean dungeon into the open-air chaos of society
There is work to do, much condensed knowledge to apply,
more barriers to break down and move forward, lift the spirits of those who
remain trapped inside the invisible webs of the powers that be, the victims of
business as usual – put a stop to the rot, stay the advance
of organized misdemeanor and crimes against humanity –
contain the refuse of an administration obsessed with self-gain,
an administration driven by leverage and disdain for all surrounding life,
by misplaced ideology, delusion, a way of living that
wastes life’s awesome potential for a few comforts more,
and which drowns the world in seepage
The dreamer conjures up plans to frustrate the schemes of the
wardens and magistrates who trap life in their sinister agendas
(life seeks to escape the raping clutch of toxicity –
seeks out a reprieve, fresh air)
The soul conjures itself into resistance,
lashes out to crack the barriers
The spirit summons its formless capacity,
sniffs out the cracks in the stone wall,
somewhere between the tightest bonds,
a way through the crushing density of injustice
and cruelty, into the blue sky and fresh air,
into a clean view, an open horizon
There is always a way through
The dreamer counts his dreams – his blessings –
The minutes leading up to his move
The flowing, deliberate whispers of deliverance