Standing in a hall of mirrors
you no longer see the irony,
reflections of an era of misogyny only
the man behind the curtain can remember—
and then only when the little dog nips at his heels.

I suppose it was always meant to end this way:
the projected criticism, forecasted blame, blatant
blasphemy babbled in the name of Good Society—
the card, the clamp, the guard, the camp,
necessary measures taken.

A stratified subjugation not seen for what it is.
In the end, when you see me there
and all the others, guant, gone green,
but last look of life lingering in the heart
of humanity you could not kill in me or them,

Will you see then that it is your tyranny
against some presumed tyrant deep down
you thought yourself to be that created the illusion
you acted in impulse upon? Will you see then
the ramparts in the light of an early dawn?

She, too late having arrived in this life
by her own assessment, yet right on time
to see with real eyes horrors we inflict upon
one another when we do not dare to honor
all that lives and breathes within us.

Will you stave her off, starve her and condemn? 
Push buttons frantically to control? Tell her
to click her heels three times and wish it all away?
Or might you, guardian of a Good Society, see
gift of her simplicity, goodness and true things

She carried in her heart of home
and wanted only to share with you.
You have a heart, courage and the brains and still
you stand transfixed by shadows denied.
Still you crave exoneration, seek safety and hide.

In her eyes she saw always and only a man,
brave-hearted, a fellow heartland traveler
who lost his way and fought to find freedom
from all the wicked ways but fell for flying 
monkeys and an artificial system,

Failing to believe anymore
in true love alive inside.