Incubus

  
Incubus
 
I have spoken, I have written – of the madness that afflicts us.
And I’m one among the millions, who have noted that we’re mad.
But still there’s no abatement. The fever hasn’t peaked.
And what is the prognosis? The answer is, “It’s bad.”
 
For an illness not resisted, of the body or the mind,
Can be one that turns to lethal. Should we let the patient die?
Should he suffer in his torment, unnoticed till he’s dead?
Should we cover up his torture – and his corpus, with a lie?
 
For the patient is no other than our species – and the world.
And the seed may be from Nature, but it’s found a soil in us.
And its growth is ugly, monstrous – and it’s choking all the rest.
It’s an illness that’s devouring – and its vectors – they are us.
 
There is madness, in our culture, that has entered in our blood.
Insanity’s the driver that has brought the world to this –
That the sane among us sicken, as they see what has been wrought
By the god whose name is “Mammon” and is “Madness” – with a hiss.
 
The hissing of a serpent is a warning to the one
That might tread upon its body.  But the sibilant that ends
The name of “Mammon-Madness” is the hissing sound of death,
For it tells of dread affliction – and of horrors, it portends…
 
Will we fight off the infection – will the fever peak and pass?
We cannot know the answer, we can only pray and hope.
Is there treatment for the illness – are there those, who know the cure?
We do not know the answers – we can only try to cope.
   
But the toll it takes is heavy – on us humans and the rest.
So I write again of madness, of the all-devouring kind,
That has coupled fierce with money and has made the evil spawn
That is eating up the planet and is feeding on the Mind.
 
I have seen him in a vision, as he went about his task.
For this monster has a mission, as its devotees may know.
And the purpose of this being?  That’s a question we may ask,
As the answer may be screeching in the demon-winds that blow.
   
2014  October 31st, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York