In '88, at Charlie's gate,
Eastbound I traveled, under a lead crystal guise,
A young American, fully steeped
Within oppressive, fascist governing, I silently crept
Power and control, they do slip in quietly
Under a guise of nurture, protection rightly
But I knew better, a hippy commune turned religious insult
Escaping the grip, a young American, from this cult's embrace
I sought new skies.
Oppression's shadow loomed with iron hand,
Fascist governing, its weight profound,
But power sneaks, disguised as nurture's band,
And freedom's whisper silenced without sound.
Youthful and American, seeking a way,
From the clutches of oppression's cruel might.
Learning firsthand how power silently slips,
Cloaked as nurture, but control was its yearning
Under this guise, a price to pay,
Crept in and out of sight.
LOVE BOMB, a reflection of cult's embrace,
Interwoven with the fabric of dictatorship's reign.
Who can we trust in this perplexing space,
To shield us from the world's merciless pain?
The question lingers, haunting our minds,
In a world where tyrants and saviors converge.
For power's allure can be subtle, it blinds,
To protect or to exploit, who shall emerge?
Twenty-twenty spring, a skill was found,
The hospitals wept, in need profound,
To sew, to stitch, amidst a mask's demand,
And surgical caps filled my nimble hand.
When masks no longer called, a quilt took shape,
Through sewing and quilting, my heart beats,
Telling stories of love and the dangers between.
A son leaving for horizons afar,
A quilt I resolved to make, with love's care.
Recalling an old flag, a relic
A connection to those oppressed, we shall share.
LOVE BOMB, who can we trust?
To protect us from evils, we must
Be wary of power and control, slipping in
Quietly, under the guise of a protective spin
For son departing, a college embrace,
Within its threads, a memory to drape,
An old flag's scent, from Eastern Bloc's own race.
The ties I felt to those who suffered long,
Beneath tyrannical rulership's reign,
Love Bomb emerged, a quilt both fierce and strong,
From iron grip and leader's bane.
For who can we trust in this troubled land,
To shield and protect from evils profound?
We know them, they lurk, with power close at hand,
While love becomes a weapon, echoing sound.
In stitches and patterns, a message sewn,
That love and power, entwined, can deceive,
The quest for truth, a path too rarely known,
As despots rise, and fragile hearts grieve.
So let us ask, with caution's steady breath,
Who claims our trust, in safety's alluring mask?
Borne from desperate times we did face,
Beyond this crisis, my needles call,
A thread of solidarity, yearning to cast,
To honor those oppressed under tyrant's sway.
LOVE BOMB, my own, a tapestry bold,
The question remains: who shields us in this space?
Who can we truly trust, as protectors we seek,
From the evils that lurk in the world's domain?
When power and control render us weak,
And twisted leaders claim our trust in vain.
In stitches and patches, as a quilt doth proclaim,
The struggles of souls bound by oppressive chains,
Seeking solace and unity amidst the flame,
Embracing the hope that empathy still remains.
For love's the antidote, the powerful balm,
That mends the wounds inflicted by hate's decree,
Through quilts and through art, we seek to disarm,
To reclaim our trust and set our spirits free.
Photo by Pipi Deer @pipideer
