Threads of an Unseen Hand

A structure rises, hidden in plain sight,

Built on whispers that stitch through the night.

Rules are taught, and dreams are sold,

Truth buried beneath what we're told.

Stories play on glowing screens,

Shaping thoughts and distorting scenes.

Promises drift on every breeze,

While quiet hands collect the fees.

They tell of futures bright and grand,

Yet toil and struggle fill the land.

Two steps forward, one pulled back,

While unseen forces keep on track.

Cycles spin, the seasons pass,

New faces come, yet the same old glass.

Labor long, but never free,

Chained to clocks that no one can see.

Currencies flow and power shifts,

While wealth and hunger trade their gifts.

Behind high walls, few reside,

Many below, pushed aside.

Laws are written and orders sent,

To keep it permanent.

Faith is offered, control in disguise,

A distant reward, beyond the skies.

The stories told, the tunes they play,

Keep minds in line, keep fears at bay.

Symbols shine from flags unfurled,

While quiet hands still run the world.

But cracks appear where light gets through,

Truths forgotten come into view.

The game persists, the wheel turns round,

Yet change awaits where hope is found.

In every mind, a spark can grow,

and in the cracks, rebellion flows.

A whisper asks: What if it's all a lie?

What if the walls could no longer comply?

It stands on threads so thin,

It falls begins from change within.

A structure built to break and bind

Could come undone, just one heart at a time.