Disasters From Puppet Masters Poem by Alfred Barna

You can see the plans for distraction
You can see the moves to split us apart
Eventually, we are paralyzed into inaction
So called masterminds knew that from the start
We root for the teams of which we identify
But our identity, not our own, planned from a fable
We need to sit back, and start to ask ourselves "Why? "
Every time we feel the strings pull, when we are able
Otherwise we will kill, maim, and destroy in games
Of which the outcome, the chess masers care not
For control is all that they pursue in our shames
Their hands dry from blood and sweat, they fear not

Puppet masters are only masters
When you dance on the end of the strings
They create the coming disasters
Because, they know of what their future brings
But we need to deny them of the cords they tie
Around the tomorrows of which they wish to control
We need to confront them of their own lie
Engels and Levi are not the solution, nor our goal
We have been children whose surrogate parents tortured
But wounded minds still see them as saviors
Displayed through media, art, and into all cultured
We have not yet healed our behaviors

We can receive the message of greater heart
This was passed down to us throughout the ages
We must confront those who have played their part
And we must take our children from twisted sages
Those who have place themselves as our kings
Have not enthroned themselves to free us from their pain
They want to create a hollow world of things
And to forever perpetuate their demented reign
Man and machine are like iron and clay that shall not cleave
The futurists dream of entanglement of pseudo and real
And of altered states and minds of we cannot believe
Taking the humanity out of everything we think and feel