The Declaration of Hypocrisy by Nicole Terry Old man finds his way to a foreign land, declares on an electric box his truce. Young man with a multicolored banner in hand takes a stand and conducts the Herd (a great wail of beast let forth from the streets). of the foreign land.   Like a chant the Young man with the multi-colored banner, waves his hand over the Herd—his slaves— as they stand and gaze at their spades. ALARM bell sounded to begin the planting. Young man called King watches but does not see the stirred beginnings of an uprising. “Question!” came the cry from the mouth of child clothed in brilliant Light. The slaves covered their eyes: “A Bright! A Bright!” They feared, scattering for Night. The child walked away from the others in the field, a straight path to the electric box before the King, observed with wide eyes, amused by the Old man's words of truce. “Why should we plant while the Old man offers peace?” The slaves’ eyes glazed and anger shaped their mouths. ALARM bell sounded, concert begun- the congregation of confusion. “Don't speak such words. We leave such things to the King. We're hungry! We're hungry!” The King beat his drum to quiet the herd. “That child is a Liar! The Old man seeks to perpetrate your Freedom. Do not believe him; put your faith in me.” The People settled and returned to the planting. The child quickly forgotten, puzzled on a hill; disquieted in solitude, “How can this be?” Time continued passing... 3 days later Old man appeared again in the field with plea to end the calamity. The child ran to the people “Should we not seize the opportunity for peace?” “Silence the child!” ordered the King. “The 0ld man is a Liar. I tell you the Truth.” The people severed their sympathy and seized the child. “Why? Why don't I understand?” asked the child. “You will.” spoke the King. The Old man's lips moved but did not speak on a foreign land.   A scream like the release of a flock of birds broke loose from the center of the Herd “I bear the cry of this child,” said a voice without form or currency. The people froze in the face of the mystery, unable to comprehend the new voice. “This voice could not be greater than our King,” they rationalized. “The Old man is dying. He is trying to deceive you. Let you not be deceived,” the King answered. “What do we do? Who do we follow?” the people wondered. A spinning, an uncontrolled beginning rotating within the whirlwind about the child. The King fought for control, giving a wink to the shapeless voice. Now the people understood: The King was fooling them, like a magic show. This is to be a parade! The people scrambled for their finest dress, happy to show off their decorated spades. Privately the child was carried off, sentenced to 500 days in Asylum, the child's mouth bounded, but eyes Question unceasing. The Question of blood spilt on a foreign land.   Years older, the child returned to the field. It held the same faces, same planting, same king but with different name. “Have I spent years in captivity only to return to another kind? Possess you know sight beyond your eyes?” inquired the child. “You have not learnt your lesson, Child!” bellowed the same King but with different name. “What lesson was I to have learnt?” “You see! That child is crazy. That child questions too much.” said the King to the Herd. “Is it crazy to question Words that are not decreed from no other mouth than the king's?” Stumped, the king stomped his gilded foot. The slaves harried, worrying, for they could see their King becoming upset. So they hated the child. ALARM bell sounded, the hunt is on in a foreign land.   The child, tired, back tied to the walls in their minds. did not run, but stood; Defended, denied the act of their conveyance. No sound, but the hum of silence. The child cried, but with no tears, inside held years of unkempt fears. Realization stunned the child, as the expression fell clear in their eyes. OFFENDED was the name of their beguiled Legion. Vengeance aimed at the child for daring to Question, for the nerve to stand unquieted. In the child's now calm mind there was no need to flee for no more Questions remained. Answers had been offered and observed, all paradoxes and contradictions returned untamed. The child spoke, once, then no more:   “I Am in spite of you.” The beast sprung, pounced, tore, feasted, pacified and appeased, pleased. “Now there is Peace,” declared the King. The child gone, for ever and would not be missed, not ever in the foreign land. ©  Copyright 2008 Nicole Terry ALL RIGHTS RESERVED   [back to Poems] [Sensual Poetry]