I do not deny that I planned sabotage. I did not plan it in a spirit of recklessness nor because I have any love of violence. I planned it as a result of a calm and sober assessment of the political situation that had arisen after many years of tyranny, exploitation and oppression of my people by the whites. -Nelson Mandela
We’d once again conceded victory to corrupt establishment politics we now pretended to endorse. So someone we suspect is worse isn’t elected in our selected electorates place. And daily allowed ourselves inundated, awash in unethical persuasions, criminal coercions, and bottomless, un-endable deceit.
Unfathomable is the haranguing, turning fault into evil, evil into normal and values into vitriol hurled relentlessly at our door. No decision escapes derision, opinion it’s hefty scathing, and any and all directions land us legs upended, rugs pulled out from underneath.
Pondering this I sat, wondering: at what point has the table tipped? The worser of two evils’ lean now solidly towards democratic un- favor? When did we simply call “uncle”, give up, surrender? Decide all the same blunder? That idea’s of compromise mere white towels thrown feckless at enemy feet?
Unanswered, this question lies silent. Instead, numbness setting in. The devoid-of-feeling mindset too weary and wary to feel helpless anymore. Or, at least, too tired and hopeless any longer to care.
We know were we hit all at once with the horrendous pile of the intolerable we now tolerate, doled out incrementally in tolerably swallowable bites, we would be immune. The waves of desensitized infection wafting around and all over us. Blotting our senses from what’s beyond reason and unacceptable, something we somewhere inside still intuitively are aware.
Yet powerlessly, we surrender. We accept and accept and accept. We deny and deny. And unendingly, we blame…That sinewy revelation sends a shiver at us. A slippery cold sliver of slithering excuses still nags and bluff.
When will we heed this chilling creeping, warning up our spine? When will we face-forward and answer, planted resolutely, firmly immovable, unshakable, at last? When is enough is enough really enough?
And when will I reach my ultimate ending? My own inevitable spot, where finally, knowing, I draw uncrossable lines indelibly in the sand?
via Daily Prompt: Shiver