Feardom

the boogieman still
locks the nations up at night
the something underneath
the bed, the sudden noise
in the dark, the could be
might be, dreadful possibility
wears the key to the irons
that shackle us to dominion

of course they know each other
well, kin once removed but
then rejoined at the hips
to grow and loom in
the shadow of the moon
and as the thief in the night
to tear away a facade
a mere paper thin layer
to make the wolf a sheep
and a want a necessity
betting their illusion would
convince us all to
bow down, hand over,
and do their bidding

let the bet ride though
makeup eventually wears off
and people may tire
of a hand up their backside
power is only possible if
it is given and wealth only
exists because it's considered so