Pawn Or Thorn...Up To You Poem by Alfred Barna

What from within the depths of the nature of man
Allows ourselves to be primed for our self-destruction
Perhaps, it is not only the evils of the hidden hand
Luring us like moths to the flames of our combustion
Republican or democrat, the left or toward the right
Communist or Capitalist; choose your demise design
Stoking the cataclysm; provocateur for the fight
Becoming the oldest of stories in pantomime
We will either continue to follow orders
Or take the blame for what we do
No matter what side we reside of the chess game borders
We must decide on what we do
What we do…is up to you
What we do…is up to you


The ignorance of hyped color revolutions
As if somehow we should die in the cause of hues
The time has been called, send in substitutions
Yet the children die oblivious as to the origin of clues
What is the meaning of endless lines of graves
If we celebrate the madness of all these medieval champions
When we continue to be lead down the Coliseum as slaves
For the pleasure of the elite profiting from the fools and minions
We will either continue to follow orders
Or take the blame for what we do
No matter what side we reside of the chess game borders
We must decide on what we do
What we do…is up to you
What we do…is up to you


We are pawns to the schemes of corporations
Financial philanderers with no loyalties to anyone but gain
From dusk to dawn of the birth of the nations
Foundations form from which dark societies take their aim
Like coaches who secretly draw up the plans for the game afield
They tell the players the outlines to be carried and executed
Each player knows only their hand, not the big picture of what it will yield
Or of whether the end it to be condemned or to be saluted
We will either continue to follow orders
Or take the blame for what we do
No matter what side we reside of the chess game borders
We must decide on what we do
What we do…is up to you
What we do…is up to you