A Rebel's Elegy Poem by Leon Moon

Take from those geniuses who burnt out in the fires of their convictions.
Strip a strand from the fallen and in the difference of contradicting wisdom
Bind a new sense; collect and gather and declare war on your own superstitions,
Inherited retributions and sacred conclusions: exhume all illusion—
Starve your ignorance, carve into coincidence and weave purpose from the remnants.
Refuse the self proclaimed sovereign suns who dictate the economy of reason
Subjugating meaning, declaring truth a radical: exile tyrannical
Close-mouthed law makers justifying intrusion, mandating your seclusion
The final solution to end all problems: the hidden hand of the all powerful;
Sellers of drought, masters of production, reapers of clouds, dealers of instruction,
Fixers of doubt, racketeers of devotion, tears of clowns, redeemers of motion
Wean en masse the addiction to emaciation, destruction's appetite
Seducing balances to fight, uprooting natural rhythms from their foundation—
Ersatz-fact soil strikes people into proselytes: sterile marches sedate the night.
Follow without time or beat and keep the lens of all history as a faithful guide,
Test the strength of every weapon's inner-constitution and the shape of its tide,
Examine the reason for cliche's and the benefactors of stereotype,
Beware of tradition's abolition and any new enemy advertised,
Rip out the channels manufacturing instinct, programmes deciding what you think,
Re-wire the circuit board igniting feet to repeat the dream which drove us extinct,
Extract hidden artefacts from ancient pacts, expect only one result from your task,
Don't bind yourself blind by looking back or forget internal battlegrounds devised
By prophets of the past, hoarders of antiquity who profit the less you ask:
Questions are only dangerous to verity's rival who has something to hide;
Despite the depths helium imperialist's rise, no man can ordain a right
Preceding birth. Exalt yourself from the conquerer's cross-eyed curse, revolution
Drip-fed by those who have no regard for your thirst. Keep first and directly in sight
The rectitude of your plight, no human is immune to corruption, the mission's
Completion isn't a freezing, no package can contain freedom or her priceless seasons;
Minds are malleable instruments too easily starved into cages for the heart
Grip the death of every past promise, the genesis of presence, the future's reign
In the soul of each action you impart, imprints only remain once they're ingrained
In the flesh as a scar, our bloodless memory, the weightless stand of death's last charge.