In the land of the craven
short sighted vision
breeds blindness
and by degrees
you'll find us
in the weeds strangled
by the debris of our
own lies receding
as far back as the sea
stretches over the miles
back in time to the dawn
of our lives when innocence
remembered the combination
entered was trust in
our lady of the sand
for that which we carried
our last reprimand
was in the talons
of freedom's wings
which beat a retreat
across the bloody beach
of history, and each
single one of those
sanctified lies becomes
etched in the lines
of unblinking eyes
that must stare in
the mirror of its own
hijacked self where
lessons like that
are not taught
from a shelf
No comments:
Post a Comment