save your platitudes
there’ll be no raising the dead
from hope’s shallow grave
your words are dead dry flowers
on humanity’s warm blood
something to make you feel good
your words cannot heal
bloodied wounds of human flesh
nor suture the souls
ripped apart by promises
to support democracy
but bookkeepers rule the roost
so as often said
save your breath for future lies
reach into your purse
and place some copper pennies
on the eyes of all those who
trusted in your empty words
Read Between the Minds 