Tales From A Broken Society

End Game

Your words flow freely
The same blind mantra
Time and again
Adopted ideals
Dressed up clumsily
In ill-conceived adjectives.
Unnecessary as usual.

Where’s the thought?
The depth of feeling?
Has reality visited you?
Touched that frivolous,
contemptible soul?
Your prosaic notions
Far from prophetic
As you’d like us to believe.

A roll of the eyes
An itch on the thigh of the faithful
The reaction born as you try
to convince
Convince who?
Or maybe it’s you?
Drowning in delusions and self-belief.

Conversion unnecessary
We know who we are
Where we stand

Do you?

Smile at the camera
Fawn to the favourable
Your silence is all I crave
Yet still you speak.

Reah Roberts ©2012


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