Confucian Chronicles

 

The house style is imperial, conservative in dress and etiquette,

Vestments and head wear are de rigeur.

Superiors are approached with bowed heads

And addressed as Sir,Your Worship, Mrs or Madam,

Depending on their place in the hierarchy.

 

The peasants and minor clerks, have long known their place.

Patronage is too generous to jeopardise through flippant challenge.

Only the very young or very odd take a stance, adopt an attitude.

The elders know the young will change with time.

But the odd ones?

 

The scholars make their pronouncements

But each has a price

The state is managed by the business class masquerading

As public servants

The military have their own agendas

They all eat from the same bowl

 

The malcontents wear their hair over their collars.

They take their rations to the street

And meet conspiratorially in local inns,

Considering the bleakness of their future,

Unwilling to take the role of drones but seeing no alternative

 

The heretics plot into their cups

But escape is their horizon, not rebellion.

Even their spokespeople are resigned to the easy peace of compromise. 

The war is over, the writing on the wall.

Only an idiot or hero would think otherwise.

 

Respect, order,duty, obediance are the watchwords

The opposition is demoted, exiled or deleted.

The new way is the best way, the only way.

It is official, society no longer exists

The old bonds evaporate before their eyes

 

He considers the options, bend or break

Or strike out to the frontier before being sent

Crisis has upset the equilibrium, things fall apart

He studies the turtle shell, packs his scrolls,

And walks off westwards into the setting sun.