Our fingers curled like pitchforks, pounding on the keys,
cast words - a web of truth and lies, through spiteful eyes,
like torches set afire and stabbing towards the sky.
The mob is riled, the hurricane of hate spins wild.
From cunning hangman's knots the crowd suspends free speech
as vultures peck away at reason and respect.
Shared discourse is disdained, displaced with shame and scorn.
Sharp spittle flying from their jowls, the horde just howls.
Justinian Code's jurisprudence pilloried:
where witch trials immolate all sense of innocence,
and fault, by gender, is presumed - guilt guaranteed -
false "facts" in filtered fragments flow through party lines.
Our pyres are piles of hatred and hyperbole
The casualties of politics are proof and truth.
|
Author Notes
As I scrolled down friend's Facebook pages, I became extremely upset with all the hatred and nastiness slithering down their walls. I have been away from my much loved FanStory for too long and hope this means I am finding my poetic voice again.
|
|
