New Zealand’s true poet laureate composes an Ode to the Convoy Protest

The City on the Hill

On the twenty second day of the second month

of the twenty second year of the millennium,

omens and portents swirled in grand chaos.

A three headed lamb was born with black blood

from vaccine shedding 5G zombie nanobots.

Many tribes gathered on the dusty square

before the Great Temple, discontented.

The outlook grew progressively darker.

But a light came unto the dark.

The light was reflected off the coiffure

of Winston Raymond Peters, by the flash of camera bulbs.

So did Winston Raymond Peters walk among the Israelites;

and to them he saith, I will lead you to the promised land

away from the bitter lash and mandates of the Pharaoh.

Other prophets who had been squelching

in the dank mud for many days looked on;

and gnasheth and grindeth their teeth in rage

as WRP ate their lunch in front of them.

The tribes were countless and diverse.

Behold the followers of Yahweh Brian, and the Aryanites.

Behold the Agenda 2030 people, and the Lizard Conspiracy people.

Behold the natural immunity hot turmeric yoga ladies,

and all those who suffereth under the yoke

of oppression and free public health care.

So the Israelites mingled together, in one giant Petri dish

and saith to the Pharaoh, we will weareth not thy muzzles.

And on the other side of the barricades

the soy latte sipping Pharisees and Sadducees

grimaced ineffectively from behind their muzzles;

for if a Pharisee grimaces invisibly behind a muzzle,

it is merely throwing sand at the desert wind.

So they rained down wrath and great destruction

on the Israelites via countless barbed Tweets.

And great confusion covered the land.

Centurion Andronicus surveyed the battle field.

Clear the chariots! he ordered his legionnaires.

Lo, his legionnaires were dodging handfuls of foulness

thrown by the Israelites, and heeded him not.

And although they kept a safe distance

from the screeching and wild eyed Israelites,

other well-heeled Israelites also sternly disapproved

of the public health response to the plague.

Then did these merchants and princelings join

with the lank haired chanting nobodies

they had until recently despised and ignored;

and thus unity came to the land,

and the people were as one.

Arise, ye defenders of the common folk!

Wielding your shining swords of truth and liberty.

Over the horizon, Admiral Rustington Coutts speeds,

behind the wheel of his anti-authoritarian luxury yacht.

Discreetly elegant Lady Debz Chambers QC warns

of creeping totalitarian Pharoahism in the Babylon Herald.

Down the back, a righteous dude bro from the ‘Naki

takes a mighty hit off his bong and nods sagely.

All are brought together:

the great and the mighty,

the humble and unwashed,

the designer accessories and the dirty bare feet,

the mildly concerned and the batshit crazy,

the YouTube researchers and the merely ignorant,

and as one they prayed and swayed

before the Golden Calf;

And the name of the Golden Calf

was freedom.

Victor Billot has previously been moved to write Odes for such as Christopher Luxon, Jacinda Ardern, Brian Tamaki, Willis and Rawnsley, Dr Siouxsie Wiles, Duncan Garner, and Garrick Tremain.

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