The Naked Troubadour

I’d Love to Live in a REAL World [prose-poem]

Posted on Sep 2, 2019 Updated on Sep 2, 2019

I’d love to live in a real land and world
WHERE people say just what they mean
and mean just what they say.
WHERE promises are staunchly kept
and day could not be meant as night
nor ever night mean day, for everywhere
I see such things inverted in this way:
darkness masquerades as “light”;
evil’s in disguise as “good”; bitterness
pretends it’s “sweet”; and even lies
are counterfeited as “the truth” so much
that few today know wrong from right.
WHERE dictionaries could not have such
words as “boredom”, “war” or “holiday”
(for every day is holy in a way).
WHERE openness is normative and
everyone of every size and age
puts value on innate ability to play
not stupid games designed to hinder
or destroy or wielded as a ploy
but those reflecting what takes
place within an atom’s dancing heart —
electrons round a nucleus wildly dart!
WHERE family’s a cherished word
not merely used to signal bloody kin
and people do not merely feign
an interest in the things you’ve done
or who you are or all the places
where you’ve lately been or
where you can be seen or
judge you by your make of car or
ogle at some one they call a “star”.
WHERE coldness in a frozen heart
will instantly be cauterised away.
WHERE tempers never bite or fray
and fists are only used to knead
the bread for breakfast every day.
WHERE empathy’s the quality
which marks you out as worthy and
WHERE sheer manipulation’s arts and
crafts could never hold a soul in sway.
WHERE people think in colours never
seen or heard or dreamed before
and no one ever thinks in grey —
a world which has no need of doors.
WHERE idols, whether pop or made of
wood and stone could never have a home.
WHERE Love & Truth are sacred twins
and what a person is within is held as
more momentous than the things
they’ve had to go without and
WHERE to feel self-doubt is good
to humbly have from time to time,
far better than the always feeling
everything we think and say is right
as smug self-righteous socialites.
WHERE men have heart and view
whichever place they hang their hats
as home and freely grow their hair
and wear not clothes of monochrome
and thus they dance for joy when moons
are full (and even when they are alone).
WHERE women wouldn’t gleely ride
the worthless carousel of cocks,
contaminate themselves, unloved and
shipwrecked on the sharpened rocks
of virginless disease — neither would
they wish to dig up gold disguised
in all the many ways I see today
or find some dupe to place their finger
in a rock or hang around their necks
a frayed and gaudy sign which says
“I have no thing to offer you” or “Sold”.
WHERE jealousy is pointless to endure;
for everyone in my real world has everything
they need 4 sure: a life itself & air 2 breathe
and everywhere ils sens le parfum de l’amour.
WHERE age is just a number signifying
wisdom rather than denoting one’s decay
or incapacity or even one’s decrepitude;
and rather than dismissed as senile studs,
those older men (I speak in linear terms) who
still know how 2 love with all their parts R seen
as representative of superhuman pulchritude!
WHERE everyone is natural and full of altruism
rather than curmudgeonly and full of attitude.
WHERE, thankfully, “democracy” is no more an
excuse for engineering everyone’s consent, which
has enabled cold unscrupulous and egomaniacal
manipulators to pretend to “serve the people”
when they really merely serve themselves, as
centuries of waffledom has wholly shown
(and surely now their cover has been blown!).
WHERE masculine & feminine are seen as sacred —
an expression of divine desire’s benevolence
designed to counteract humanity’s irreverence
& hubris in imagining that men & women R the same
(when really they’re a pattern of the dovetail joint,
a term in carpentry for symbiosis glued to strength —
a concept which could only disappoint a fool.
WHERE women bloom like flowers flowing from
the Tree of Life rather than becoming tools for
ideologies and movements which have been
designed to cause division, conflict, strife.
4 in my real world the madness will have ceased
and every polarised assault on harmony and peace
will then have been aligned with Light and those
sane humans who remain, having undergone
a major change in consciousness onto a higher plane
(which even angels will admire with joy)
will no more know that word which is the fuel
of so much misery and heartache, namely: fight.
WHERE no one ever is or could be just a cog
in one vast blind unthinkingsome machine.
WHERE there would never be a gallows,
or electric chair, a firing squad or guillotine.
WHERE universities and schools
instead of always teaching facts
([which only serves to foster fools]
and forcing blind conformity to
social norms’ employment market
schemes, thus giving up their dreams)
direct a soul with gentleness and
tact towards a useful source of light,
becoming erudite in thought and act.
WHERE growth is not in bank accounts
but buried deep within our hearts.
WHERE all the ingenuity of science
which can blow the world apart (to bits)
(while men just slaver over tits and
women pay for tucks and nips) is used
instead to fill each mouth with food.
WHERE weak and vulnerable people
will not have a life of servitude and
no one’s ever heard the word “mistreat”
and no one’s living shelterless on streets.
WHERE everyone can see through lies
and no more being steeped in what is trite
will value wisdom infinitely more than
latest crazes, mobile phones, or appetites.
WHERE no one feels ‘entitled’ merely
thinking of their rights like whingeing
parasites, or glorifying war instead of
honour (statehood’s dirty old backdoor)
instead of seeing beauty in the always
now-lost art of sacrifice and, having crucified
their ego’s wretched pride, they walk the
long forgotten pathway known as selficide.
WHERE duty’s no more just regarded
as a dirty word no better than a turd
you’d slip on while out walking in the park.
Oh, how this world lives in the dark!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I’d love to live in a real land & world
wherein the sacred core of everyone
who follows Light by choice will be
courageously uncurled and every
blessed wing will be unfurled and
sparkles from our ever-foragingful
minds will torch the way ensuring that
we’ll find the role which, from a “time”
before our births, we have so long been
foreordained by Providence (to wit,
the Source-of-Everything) to play.
I, within my heart and mind, with all my soul,
await the dawning of that  promised Day.

© Alan Morrison, 2019