On Visiting The Tower Of The Jouche Idea - Poem by J.M. White
The stanzas of prayer etched upon the face of the cold stone;
Like an Incan monument or an Egyptian pyramid;
Each measurement of the colossus carefully chosen to equal 70;
An enormous stone candle that burns for the Idea;
Everywhere the smiling face of the Great departed.
Wisps of virgins glide in their sacred colored robes;
Praying to their gods, the priestesses exalt the Father and the Son;
Floating about the obelisk of their devotion,
they speak in tongues;
Their beauty slipping away with each passing day,
they care not;
Their fidelity knows no bounds.
At the top of their tower they are in ecstasy.
Their hair stands on end in the whipping gale as they worship
Measurements from key buildings are recalculated and reassured to reach The Number;
As far as the eye can see is the land illuminated by the Idea;
But no further.
If the great flame is extinguished and the candle light begins to fade;
When the devotees find new gods to worship and the Idea comes crashing down;
Will they leave the pedestal in place as a reminder of their blind love?
Will the priestesses be cast out from their lofty altar to wander as beggars?
Or will they leap from their wind swept alter gladly counting 70 to their watery death?
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