When rubbish flowers in a cemetery

July 31, 2008

What we made

The burden of a lie
grows heavier by the day.
The shield of good withers away.
We do nothing
except lie some more.
And hurt ourselves
and bargain sore.
A fragmented mind,
a distracted heart.
A wrecked country
cries from far.
We bear this yoke
that we made ourselves.
And curse it --
yet carry it anyways. -NM

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