they were friendly, cordial, respectful

almost too nice.

doctrines whispered, the north begrudgingly

switched south and the captain had a glazed look

when a soft push, a nudge, a well intentional advise

simply went past the moat – into the heart.

a pivot, a framework remade, new arms spread towards

idols that beamed for attention,

good servant come forth!

and he did, albeit by an inch, then a foot,

then a mile.

north had since lost meaning, counterfeits look genuine,

there was no difference, was there?

the convert was made, a change in direction no longer needs

pushing.

they scorned, they became invisible, they retreated into

their own fortress,

something they never had. they liked it a lot, they like it too much.

too much,

and the convert found roles switched: his wails unheard

when moats was deep, entrenched, his tactics to be seen

pointless.

the ones in the castle knew every trick,

since they were the inventors, they wined and dined

till sunset.

it was happily ever after,

the scales had now tipped into their favor.

the betrayal seemed personal, it was not,

nothing ever is

when sky and earth are like chasms infinite.

then the jungle song is heard,

it is played, it is sung, it is chanted

to all willing to

see earth and sky for what they are.