Higher and higher the vision rises until the earth is a spinning globe
on a supposed axis, on a table within a featureless room
the open window lets the cool night air filter through
and the sight of smoke drifts into the vision
A tyrant of the silver screen sits silent in contemplation,
his favourite burning stick in hand ... a vacant look in those eyes
Those same eyes then view a memory, protected by the desert sun,
they gaze at the artillery on display,
the same tyrant is dressed for war,
and gazes at figures in black, with edges of white ... elite
Hooded, their faces hidden .... the mummies, zombies
their thoughts written by unseen perpetrators, they are programmed and they are ruled
They are no longer human, perhaps they never were ...
Extract taken from 'A Tyrant of the Silver Screen' written by Matthew James 5th April 2003
