To My Fellow Ephesians (Praxis Poem)

Arise,
Night shadows
Shroud constricted pupils
From perceiving, receiving
The pure light of Love.

Asleep,
Lids encrusted
Not willing to admit
The liars we believe
Are our rulers.

Aware,
The forces of darkness
Like winged ants
Masticating our minds
Against the grain.

Artless,
Scattered
Rootlessly marching
To the oppressor’s beat
Begging for orts from his table.

Awake,
So ends
The nightmare
Now struggle for
Those in the clutches of Fear.

© Paul Dordal, 2017

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