Ballade Laissez-faire

I wrote this about a year ago and filed it away but thought I’d post it now in place of trying to express some kind of considered opinion about what’s going on. The most I’ll say in its defense is that I’m kind of proud that I found enough rhyme words for a ballade. Yeah, dodgy light verse instead of economic analysis. Because that’s how I roll.

We roam the Earth in tribal bands
Before recorded histories
Erecting on the burning sands
The gods of our mythologies.
They stare from pediment and frieze,
The idols of a hundred lands,
Our temperamental deities,
They are the work of our own hands.

We gather where the city stands,
Lively with commerce and disease.
Cargoes from every ocean’s strands,
Great empires and societies.
The old gods scatter on the breeze,
The voice of prophets countermands:
“We shall not bow to such as these,
They are the work of our own hands.”

We do just as our nerves and glands
Instruct us: that is, what we please.
Our icons, logos, ads and brands
Cajole and terrify and tease,
All governed by complexities
We’re told that no-one understands –
Correction, crash or credit squeeze:
They are the work of our own hands.

Prince! Spare us your idolatries.
Do not pretend that our commands
Can’t alter our economies:
They are the work of our own hands.

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