From the quiet streams of Azul
Came a rippling tone
That lingered in deep timbre,
A clarinet note standing long
And followed along by mellow notes
That no luthier could comprehend
For the cellos spoke in labored tones
As the stage and the moment came forward
And unto the place where the rebels and poets
Gathered to a great palaver.
“What is happening with Moloch’s howl?”
The voices were stained to speak their truths
Yet, the constraints were a self-made noose
Weaved and fashioned threads of ego
And wetted tightly by the hot oils of personalities.
“Who is Moloch?”
And where is the orator of verse?
Has anyone seen the tower bells
sway so violently
calling for a rampage of rage?
Listen – be still, heed the alarum:
“Gather the best words
Bring your nouns of renown
And add adjectives
that flare and flair the affair!
Strike fiercely and accurately with acute verbs
That all will ignite poetry
and bring light to the darkness of doubt
bring vision to those blinded by the mirror
bring understanding to those who are stunted
bring acceptance into the room of exception
bring Moloch; sing Moloch; sting Moloch!”
This is the new anthem of the old fray.
Stand back and stand aside –
Moloch has entered the arena.
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