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!
Awake to the foe on your sod!
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016