Dialectics

Why must I return to the temple doors again, the doors that've never let me in?
To transcend as they say, the irreversible real; the decadence that's chained me in?
Vain promises mask the visceral incompleteness, as we wallow in the dark forever,
Abandoned by Gods, delirious with nostalgia, succumbed to the whims of those in power.

Morning tears have disappeared in the air, mid preparations of wars to come,
The morbid silence erupts, in exalted cheers, of "glory, pride and freedom",
And the veil of ideology shall obscure all martyrs, slayed by nihilist fantasies,
Their sleepless mourners deride fascist lies, seek comfort in the nightly breeze.

As I keep count of the proliferating graves, secure and stoic as a philosopher,
Now patriots and chauvinists all appear the same, fork tongued masqueraders,
And the iron fortresses thunder and flare, midst screams of bloodthirsty fanatics,
While rebels choke and walls are built, o'er corpses of headless heretics.

So I turn to the receding hills, whence balefires blaze the weeping willows,
How the sorry trails of gore and tears, neglected, have merged with the flow,
The rising tides shimmer with stark vengeance; greet the world with ominous echoes,
The repentant souls seek salvation, while Apocalypse draws ever close...

Repressed emotions grope the empty horizon, spell out their crimson retribution,
As we wither away or cower in caves, awaiting divine intervention.
The world stands balanced, overrun with paradoxes, oscillating between lies,
And in this desolation, a red dawn glimmers, midst distant metallic chimes!

Hark the revolution that roars, resonates, rousing rebels and romantics,
Her slithering spectres wreck bourgeois facades, and breathe fiery rhetorics!
Her haunting melodies purge the catacombs, the ghettos, hailing from faraway seas,
Where poets ally with the hammer and sickle, to realise scarlet fantasies!

For once let us have no demagogic dictators, but the bald-headed bard instead,
Who sang of dreams we'd never dare dream, promised "peace, land and bread",
No benevolent ruler, no emancipator, no virtuous philanthropist,
Who've swindled us with egalitarian lies, and cliches that've bred escapists.

And what am I but a damned escapist, who has long relented to his fears?
Opiated veins seek the comfort of scriptures, whilst skewered by atheist jeers.
Revolution's my muse I could never please, my Eternal Immortal Beloved,
Yet these temple doors I have wedded for life; and the grave takes me when dead...