The Lies We Grow

The lies we grow

Holding on to truth

Until it’s expiration

Renders it false

How can we deal with lies

When they are full grown

What might have been truth

Is no longer

So

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Flares Erupted from Neighbors

Flares erupt

From a distant

Neighborhood

In the galaxy

In the universe

Of stars and planets

We see the burst of a powerful flare

In the telescopes on the ground

 

Ask the Bank

How to stop

The making of guns

We have to stop the funding

From which the fountain

Runs

Banks can say no

Not just protests

But asking the right questions

The right people

Can cut off the making

Of weapons that kill

Scot-Free

Scot-Free

Letting go of troubles

Eternally

How can one man live

In expensive cars

And neighborhoods

While others are punished

And pay time

Some run scot-free

While others due time

 

Dirty Hands

Dirty hand

Never quite know

That in the depths washed

You can not quite get all of the

Dirt

If dirt is on the hands of man

Whose hands toil in the dirt

No notice is paid

But on the hands of a banker

On the hands of a tycoon

We wonder

Where does this dirt come from

The dirty hands

That can’t be washed clean