Cover Image

Inspired by a convo over at

So sidetracked we by sideshow stalls
By superficial rise and falls
By showmen and by marketeers
There is no room left in our ears
For battle cries, for whispered wrongs
To hear the poor downtrodden throngs
Our eyes too full with dangled dreams
To see the ripping of the seams
Along the hem of fair and flawed
Diverted, dumb, we stare slack-jawed
At football teams, at drama queens
At glossy, gossip magazines
And never think to ask if this
Is worth it, our own private bliss
While others reap the heady cost
Of missed offences, conscience lost
There is no soul in the machine
No right or wrong, no heart or spleen
Or guts or eyes or guilt or thought
No consequence that can’t be bought
Out with a dime, a cent, a pound
Or quieted with louder sounds
That threaten liberty or life
That sharp imaginary knife
Held at our throats to keep us still
To bend our bones to distant will
Well open eyes and stare it out
The beast that kills the drive to doubt
And let those dull distractions dim
Til we can see the mess we’re in

Created: Jul 10, 2010


Metaphorest Document Media