The Following is a convergence of my 3 previous stories:
The Cathedral of Time
The Temple of Careers
The Pantheon of the Stars
Before you listen to the music know this, once you see them…
The next time you watch a show or movie, the next time you look at Social Media, the next time you browse the internet. You will see them, you will hear them…. And you won’t be able to unsee them. To unhear them.
The False Architects
I remember an old broadcast. Early sixties. A man describing how the Devil would take America.
“He’ll promise them safety. … Peace. He’ll make the hard choices, so they don’t have to. One by one, they’ll hand him the keys. Not because they love him… because they’re tired.”
Back then, it sounded like fiction. … Now? Maybe it was a warning. … A map?
A council chamber. No windows. A single table. Voices in shadow. Year unknown. Before time began. Or .. last Tuesday.
“We have a problem.”
The speaker’s voice filled the room .. like smoke.
“They still want to worship God. … We can’t allow that.”
“What do you propose?”
“Subvert the churches. Whisper as serpents: ‘Do as you please.’ To the young: ‘The Bible is a myth.’ Man created God. Bad is good. Good is ‘cute.’ To the old: ‘Our Father, which art in the Cathedral of Time…’”
So rose the Cathedral—fossils enshrined, Science as scripture for the seeking mind. No room for the Blessed, no room for the old Name, Just time telling time telling time the same.
“Not everyone wants progress. Some want rewards.”
Make families war with themselves. Marriage is old. Swinging is fun. Sacrifice for titles, status, possessions. … Children … are a burden. Delay. Find yourself. A hollow climb. By the time they see it’s empty, their time is gone.
“Thus we build the Temple of Careers.”
Then rose the Temple, ladders of glass, Families at war, old dreams that don’t last. Marriage is dust, children are weight, Ambition’s a ghost you are told to chase.
“And those who reject both?”
Distract them. Mesmerizing media. Fan flames. … Elevate only those who serve. Blur identity. Confuse roles. Undress them in public. Lure them into beds with no cure.
“The Pantheon of Stars. … Gods on screens. Lives they’ll never have but can’t stop chasing.”
Then rose the Pantheon—screens glowing grace, Celebrities whispering, setting the pace. Blur who you are, consume what you see, Undressed in the feed, no cure for the free.
They promised us rest if we’d just let go. They promised us peace in a flickering show. Unity. Responsibility. Safety. Sweet. But the war was already over, and we lost our seat.
The God you knew? You’ll soon forget. The status and wealth? That’s what you get.
Because when I look at the world, fear, silence, freedom traded for comfort, I hear that voice again.
“They’ll call it unity. Responsibility. Love.”
But chains are still chains… even when they’re painted gold.
I wish I could find that broadcast. Play it for everyone who’s forgotten. But maybe that’s the point.
The Devil’s greatest trick isn’t convincing you he doesn’t exist. It’s convincing you the war is already over
… In other words…
If we were the Devil, We’d keep right on doing what we are doing.
That’s the poem. Ready to be read aloud, printed, or used as lyrics.
