he’s the everyman of fantasy island who should have been a tour guide to the dark ages but became a public servant after finishing high school working effortlessly for the state’s highway department which afforded him ample time to develop his theories on society for example he thoroughly rejects socialism can’t stand the thought of federalism so is a vehement supporter of our military police and first responders he’s often overheard rebuking welfare of any kind as he stands in line at the post office for his social security check he’s truly one of kind and swears if things don’t change soon he’s going to move to costa rica where he is certain that he’ll be able to practice and further develop his me-ism
nothing left of the dream cracks in the rampart have let truth’s darkness overwhelm the dim light of national myths now the broken sharp edges of reality protrude into each day severing hope from well-tutored promises
people
burned alive
then
hung from trees
no compassionate
words heard
just
mumbled words
that’d learn yah
children
murdered on the street
by those
charged to protect
no
compassionate
words heard
just spiteful hisses
that’d
learn yah
children left
at the border
orphaned
by
procedures
dying of desperation
no compassionate words heard
just a lullaby dirge
that’d learn yah
that’d learn yah
oh but when
antivaxxers pleaded
for hospital beds
denying others
critical healthcare
we’re told
to show
moral compassion
a nation
practicing
selective compassion
perhaps we should say
that’d learn yah
as he lie dying the phone rang taking the call he found a distant family member on the line who asked how he was doing he said everything’s going as planned hung up and died with a broad smile on his face having left them disappointed about his successful plans
your condemnation of murdering civilians doesn’t quite make it since graves are already dug and souls are as cold as death you seem to believe words speak louder than actions so here’s the problem words ain’t no bullet proof vest just your moral placebo
called by many names historical alchemy medieval witchcraft it has changed over the years now critical race theory the purpose is still to convert something that is real into fantasy transformation of matter an occult art of liars
words offered before burials or the hearts have stopped beating words on any other occasions might have raised the dead like the widow’s son at nain but these words with angelic tones are political sound bites that echo through polished marble hallways hallways that are the only grave markers and eulogies these homeless will ever have such concerned words just dry leaves crushed beneath the feet of inhumanity dust without life or life giving mere moments of fleeting guilt insincere regrets for inaction offered before the graves are dug or the bodies are even cold
just a small morsel left on life’s old dinner plate best to savor it oh you might turn up your nose claiming the good parts are gone but i’m licking the plate clean
Read Between the Minds 