Naught

All I learned Today

Blood’s thicker than Truth

I unsettle You

If my thumb’s broken, it was not for Naught

Kids will find their Fun

Joy lives ‘longside Pain

Victims don’t live Here

nation

Dismay to disillusion. Hours glued to days and weeks and years. We stay stuck here. Must we? Were we thinking when we set down age-old shovels, we’d need to dig our way through? Was there only feelings? An absence of logic? Dismay. We’d not conceived to land on muddy, sinking sand. Now there is no hand -nay, not even our own- willing, it seems, reaching, to pull us up. Disillusion. A notion. A nation. Were we any we at all?

The Season of Fall

Before, we were The People
We wanted something closer to perfection
We’d die for our unity
Now We just want a break from it all
And a beer

Before, we knew to walk
We paid the price, the Cost of the thing
We’d spill our blood for posterity
Now The People talk nonstop
And ideas die

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