[ Cultural Ballot ]
God, we love to vote
Because it matters, truly
So let the Man slit your throats
To hold the ballots of duty
Making promises they'll never keep
Letting our hope fall out so cruelly
But then they speak the right words
And we're seduced back to its beauty
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Hope, change
The serpent is a slogan
Enticing us to taste
A fruit that's just a poison
Constricting all around us
Silencing all commotion
We don't question anything
All just contained within devotion
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And when it's time to speak
We are proficiently dogmatic
Erupting in a fervor
To endorse the fear and panic
Raising religion in our minds
Until our hearts become mechanic
Programmed to hear only the system
We've come receptacles of static
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Critical thought has been abandoned
Our introspection is a phantom
We just follow without question
Each submissive in tandem
Each corrupted in our minds
Indoctrinated to ransom
That we pontificate belief
In an eternal anthem
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Every generation
Becomes another aggressor
Serving violence to the world
In an unlimited measure
Every belief passed down
To form a tyrant of successors
Who cannot think a thought themselves
And turn hostile with pressure
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All culturally pompous
As dependent as infants
A congregation held together
Through processes so stringent
Throwing tantrums in an instant
At the first sight of a difference
Just to mask the very fact
That their whole being's deficient
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We fill up the stadiums
And stare towards the podium
The passion in our minds
Conjure the soul of Napoleon
For the State is our faith
It form's a world that's dystopian
We see the absence of slavery
As just pure pandemonium
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That's why we vote
Because we're trained that it matters
That without coercion and violence
Our whole world would just shatter
So we increase regulation
Profess a dictum of manners
All hailing this corruption
And our enslavement to masters
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©HeartOfBabel
©GaratheDen
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ABOUT THE POEM
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The poem is a scathing critique of blind civic and cultural conformity, portraying voting and political engagement not as acts of empowerment but as rituals of collective delusion. It argues that society is indoctrinated into believing that participation—especially through voting—grants meaning and agency, when in reality it perpetuates a cycle of manipulation, passivity, and systemic control.
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The Illusion of Power
The poem opens with irony:
“God, we love to vote
Because it matters, truly.”
This sets a tone of sarcasm, immediately undercutting the sanctity of voting. The speaker suggests that people are emotionally invested in a system that exploits them—
“Let the Man slit your throats
To hold the ballots of duty”
—implying that citizens willingly accept harm in exchange for the symbolic act of voting. The promises made by leaders are empty, yet people are repeatedly drawn back by rhetoric, likened to being “seduced” by a serpent, a clear allusion to the Garden of Eden.
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The Serpent of Slogans
Hope and change—common political slogans—are reframed as dangerous temptations.837Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtb77iURKw9
The line “The serpent is a slogan” equates political rhetoric with original sin, suggesting that appealing language masks destructive outcomes:837Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLCxKTAkf5w
“A fruit that's just a poison.”837Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMbKqlB0QY1
This metaphor extends into the idea of societal paralysis—
“Constricting all around us
Silencing all commotion”
—where dissent is suffocated by emotional allegiance to ideology.
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Dogma Over Discourse
The poem accuses the public of abandoning reason:837Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX598bbBNG6
“Critical thought has been abandoned
Our introspection is a phantom.”837Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU1Mi8xuDTj
Instead of reflection, people react with “fervor,” endorsing fear and panic. Religion is used metaphorically—not necessarily to mean organized faith, but as a system of unquestioned belief. The heart becomes “mechanic,” and minds turn into “receptacles of static,” implying that individuals no longer think but merely echo programmed responses.
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Generational Tyranny
Each generation, the poem claims, becomes an “aggressor,” passing down beliefs that stifle independent thought. These inherited ideologies create “tyrants of successors”—leaders and citizens who cannot think for themselves and respond with hostility when challenged. Cultural identity is shown as fragile, maintained through “stringent” processes and erupting into tantrums at “the first sight of a difference,” revealing an underlying insecurity: “That their whole being's deficient.”
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The Cult of the State
The final stanzas elevate the State to a religious status: “For the State is our faith.” Mass gatherings at stadiums and podiums evoke both political rallies and religious revivals, conjuring “the soul of Napoleon”—a symbol of authoritarian ambition. The poem concludes with a bleak diagnosis: freedom is mistaken for chaos (“the absence of slavery / As just pure pandemonium”), and so people cling to control, increasing regulation and submission under the guise of order.
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Ultimately, the act of voting is not liberation but confirmation of enslavement—“our enslavement to masters.” The “Cultural Ballot” is not a tool of democracy but a ritual that reinforces obedience, where people vote not out of genuine choice, but because they have been trained to believe the system is indispensable, even as it destroys them.
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