The fortress stood
strong, the city secure,
Its bulwarks and
gates anchored fast.
Through years of
battle and endless war,
No victory had any
foe grasped.
With effort that only
proved vain and fruitless,
The enemy pried for a
door,
But never a moment
were they rewarded—
The gain would
require a lure.
Making a vessel
through which they could enter,
They stealthily
slipped out of view,
Leaving a “gift” that
contained their destruction
Of a carefully chosen
few.
Quietly, patiently,
the army awaited
The city to welcome
their gift.
And, soon, to their
pleasure, the people accepted
The trap that
inflicted their rift.
A grand celebration
was held in the streets;
Who else had received
such a joy?
Yet, after the last
light was snuffed out in the dark,
The foe began working
their ploy.
That which was hidden
within the grand prize,
Disguised as a
offering of peace,
Embraced as a great
entertainment of thrill,
Was that which their
fate would release.
Into the darkness, as
silent as stars,
The hook immerged
from the bait,
From the square of
the city they quietly marched
And opened the
fortress’ gate.
Invaded at once, the
city was won
By that which had
seemed innocent,
Conquered from deep
within its own heart—
The treasure proved
fatally sent.
In patriot pride we
boldly proclaim,
“These walls will
refuse to come down!
Our gates will remain
shut with every bolt latched,
We’ll fight to
preserve regal crown!”
Yet, as the walls
crumble before our own eyes,
And gates swing wide
open to death,
We cry out in
anguish, “What e’re went awry?
Did not we hold
strong with each breath?”
The city’s not taken
by force or by storm,
But by that which was
welcomed inside;
Our own fate was
destined while we full embraced
The ploy of the
enemy’s tide.
The old Trojan Horse,
so charming it be,
Portraying sweet,
pleasure so free,
Capturing swift the
gullible soul,
Entertaining the
heart without plea.
Patiently waiting for
us to embrace
Its present of poison
in bread,
Never flashing a
sword or firing a shot,
It enters to bring on
our dread.
Then, all in the
stillness of darkness and night,
When the wise and
alert have retired,
The stealthy foe
slips out from within
And brings the
destruction required.
When he who once
watched o’re the towering walls
And stood by the
gate-doors on guard,
When he who’d
protected, sat down to enjoy
The thrill of a
trophy that’s marred.
Aye! Fellow friends,
what are we embracing
To swallow within our
gates,
But troublesome foe,
and terrible doom?
We call it upon our
own pates!
Our country falls not by political deeds
Or by the call of
some man,
But by we the people
who blindly drink in
The lure from an
enemy hand.
Awake, you who are
sleeping! Kindle the light;
The Trojan Horse is
within!
Not rifle or sword,
nor political power,
But the pleasure of
evil and sin.
Hidden inside the
sweetness and charm
Of humor, romance,
and might,
Mingled amidst the
innocent thrill,
Excused by, “…this
one is alright.”
Are we so callused as
to comfortably sit
And watch the Trophy
roll in,
And share in the
party while “it won’t affect me”?
This tactic is not
for pretend!
We march on the walls
of religious freedom,
Yet upon worldly
doctrine we feast,
We defiantly shout to
the world our beliefs,
But, we can’t live
without our TVs.
What have we come to,
that we would embrace
What we ourselves
would not do—
It’s not any wonder
why honor and truth,
And purity have
vanished from view!
A battle is raging,
we must surely stand,
Yet look past the
smoke-screens so broad,
See Trojan Horse
being lead through the gate—
Awake to the foe on
your sod!
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016
