“Elixir”

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

A curious creed is the norm by which

This republic rolls forward on Cadillac hoops

Sometimes I think about raising a stink

But quickly realize that there is no use

It’s a game controlled like a circus act

With performers vying for the attention of eyes

The one who boldly shouts with glee

Will receive a ransom, recognized

The validation seen and heard

Comes from a pantheon of precious pricks

Needlepoints that pierce the skin

And inject an elixir, expertly mixed

This treatment prescribed by dudes on deck

Trained and taught in the carnival school

Learning how to herd the flock

With a staff shaped by the golden rule

Few can see beyond the veil

Fewer can argue about the cause

But at the end of this patriot parade

There’s a finely printed, legal clause

One that gives up details in dots

Carefully arranged on a soldier’s shroud

Mapping out a hegemony, in force

Before speaking all those truths, aloud

Boasting bravely, above the crowd

The champion of this show delights

In holding sway on the grandest stage

A plateau perched behind the lights

His arms raised in a victory vee

One that cannot be mistaken for loss

He’ll hop a train ‘round the midway track

And finish with, a festive ring toss

The decoy is a live-action spree

A shell game, sleight-of-hand illusion

A trick of light and lies, reflected

Usefully usurping the logical conclusion

A clear head might tilt back in awe

A strong will could rightly prevail

Yet generally, the yield of service

Is a bovine squeeze in a galvanized pail

A bit of honey, milked from the bee

Enough to feed a hungering gang

Who give supplication to a sire

That will later be, convicted and hanged

Statues stand upon this spot

Bearing testimony to the deeds of men

Tomorrow they’ll fall upon the earth

Only to be resurrected, again

Roulette wheels spin and chart

The progress of a proper population

Groomed and guided to the target

Where arrows fly, with much elation

The bullseye hit, the wrong is righted

Stains go pale with a bit of bleach

The memories of battles borne

Disappear deep into the breach

The republic rots when neglect is nigh

Therefore, the garden must be tended

If needs arise, those stately sots

Will see that the constitution is amended

Gavels swing and bells will chime

To mark this achievement of regulation

A cadence kicked by combat boots

A metronome for the nation

No tears my friend, it is not just

To cry upon the graves, alone

While dismembering their sacrifice

Like scattered stars and broken bones

The final rest is ours to seek

And ours to lose in a sweet release

Of exhaled breaths and exalted dreams

A penance paid for warriors of peace