How Can We Leave Omelas?

They don't ever actually volunteer to tell you the truth in Omelas.
Sure, they don't make a huge effort to hide it:
The facts are all right there out in the open for anyone to see. 
And sure, the older you get the harder it is to ignore
What's happening right in front of your eyes:
The subtle manipulations, the pushback anytime you question
The nature of the system itself, the way you barely notice
Who's missing from every place that power resides. 

There are those who cry out in the streets, day after day, 
Advocating for the child, begging for the end of the suffering.
Some go home to joyous and warm places,
Others go to hovels little better than the child's cell,
But all go mostly ignored for the sake of our own happiness. 
After all, we've all heard about the child,
But most of us assume the stories must be exaggerated--
Why would it have to be that way?
Surely there are better foundations to build a society upon!

Most of those who decide to leave do so at a young age.
After all, the longer you live a life of comfort and complicity,
The harder it is to think about even the possibility of change. 
Striking out in bold new directions is for the idealists 
And the ones who don't have any other choice. 
I stayed, but it never quite felt right;
Every day in the city it got a little harder to ignore
The feeling that everything was off and I wasn't happy. 

So I walked away from Omelas.
But that's the other thing they don't tell you--
No one actually gets to leave. 
Walking away from Omelas doesn't take you out the city gates, 
Roaming the idyllic countryside, searching for true believers
So you can band together, building something better and fair. 
Walking away is simply surrendering the benefits of the child's suffering
And choosing to live in the city without status or influence. 

I found the beloved community, though:
People who had rejected the necessity of the child's suffering
And sought to instead live lives of justice and equality. 
I was worried they would look at me in my fresh clothes
With a face starting to wrinkle and a hairline quickly receding
And judge me for how long it took to walk away. 
Instead, they pulled a chair up to the table and offered me a seat, 
Calling me a brother and a friend. 

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