Torpor

Lulling the sheep

To sleep

The mesmerizing hands

Of the puppeteers


Poisonous temptation

To acquiesce

Giving the dangers of decision

To the nanny


The crushing iron fist

Described in the memoirs of time

To become but a firm hug

When cloaked in a velvet facade


Relinquish unto them

Fealty to a new order

All that was old must be buried

Anything unseemly must be burned


Wake those sleeping in comfort

For there is much work for many hands

In making room for new monuments

The architect’s delineation of past horrors

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