To Poems and Paths / Where the Obstacle Ends

Silverstein Mode: "Where the Propaganda Ends"

There is a place where the slogans stop,
And the truth runs barefoot through the wheat,
Where no red tape ties up the trees,
And no suit sells lies with a PowerPoint beat.

Where generals sit cross-legged with ghosts,
Playing chess in the ash of their plans,
And children ask, "What was a war?"
While sculpting peace with their hands.

It’s past the fence of televised fear,
Through the thicket of spin and command,
Where the propaganda ends, my friend,
And the people begin to understand.

There, the billboards bloom into questions,
And the headlines sleep in the shade,
While the press—no longer pressed—
Prints the poems that truth once made.

Bring your doubt and your dream and your dog-eared beliefs,
Bring your hope with a hole in its shoe,
We’ll write our own story beneath the sky,
Where nobody profits off you.

And maybe—just maybe—
We'll find what it means
To live where the world
Is no longer routine.

So meet me there—when you're ready to see—
Not where the flag flies, but where you're free.
I'll be waiting—no mic, no script, no lens—
On the hill where the propaganda ends.

Dr. Seuss Mode Walks In: “Where the Propaganda Ends” (Redux)

Out past the noise and the blabber and chatter,
Beyond all the natter of “This is what matters,”
Through forests of flags that flap in the spin,
There’s a bend in the road…
…and that’s where you begin.

The signs say “BUY THIS!” and “BELIEVE THAT!” and “FEAR!”
But follow your feet—and get out of here.
Just hop on a goose, or a yak with three tails,
Or a train made of truths that rides on no rails!

You’ll pass by the Land of the Red-Hatted Shouters,
And glide over oceans of Fact-Doubting Doubters.
You’ll skip through the bogs of the Half-News Reports,
And the Courthouses built just for lying retorts.

But don’t lose your nerve and don’t turn around,
Just head where the air makes a whistling sound.
It’s the sound of a thought that’s fresh and brand new—
A thought that’s not bought, and it didn’t need you.

Then you’ll reach a small sign made of questions and thread,
And it simply says:
“Right here. Truth ahead.”

And there on a stump (with no tie, hat, or pen),
Sits a child and a turtle and maybe ten men—
Each holding a truth they discovered alone,
Each carving a future from bark and from bone.

No ads, no agendas, no hashtags or trends—
Just stories and gardens, and time with your friends.
So grab your old boots and your out-of-tune ends—
Let’s march to the place
Where the propaganda ends.

(With a hop and a skip and a grin, no defense—
Let’s unbuild the fence
And rebuild common sense.)

Dr. Seuss x Shel Silverstein Mode: “The Obstacle”
(Two pens. One purpose. A world to unspin.)

SEUSS (bouncing in, rhyming loud):
Oh the Obstacle's huge! It's a mountainous hump!
It’s a billboard, a border, a wall, and a stump!
It tells you you're small and you must not proceed,
"Obey! Stay afraid! Buy this thing that you need!"

It hums and it buzzes—it barks and it booms,
It fills up your thoughts and your living rooms.
It’s crafted with care from a thousand bold lies,
And it stares with ten screens and a thousand wide eyes.

SILVERSTEIN (soft, slow, and sly):
But I saw a crack in the concrete grin,
Where a weed pushed through with a soft green chin.
It whispered, “Come closer. It’s not what it seems.”
This wall’s built of whispers and secondhand dreams.”

So I touched it once—and the paint peeled back.
The bricks were just paper, the mortar a crack.
The Obstacle wobbled, it started to sway…
It seems the whole thing was just built from gray.

SEUSS (perched on a tree limb made of satire):
AHA! It’s a fraud! A phony! A fake!
Just candy-wrapped fear in a worry-wood crate!
So bring out your pencils and rhymes that ring true—
We’ll doodle and noodle and see our way through!

SILVERSTEIN (tipping his hat, carving a door):
We’ll cut a small window, then open it wide,
Let the light in that they've tried to hide.
We’ll sit with our questions, and paint on the stone—
And find in the silence, we’re never alone.

TOGETHER (one voice, two souls, four feet dangling):
So here’s to the kids with crayons for swords,
To doodlers, dreamers, and truth-telling boards.
To questions that wiggle and answers that bend,
To poems and paths
where the Obstacle ends.