She puts garlic on my gravestone
Just in case the stake she drove
Through my back,
Missed my heart,
The wicked witch of the east
Painting herself as a vampire slayer
Determined to root out
All who refuse to accept her slanted
Version of truth as true,
A Brutus, a Judas,
Not even needing silver coins
As an excuse to drown out
Any voice she does not want to hear,
Any voice that raises questions
About her belief,
While she plots in the corner
Scratching out bits of propaganda
To make her enemies look foolish,
Hiding behind a mask like a bank robber,
Conducting her crusade in whispers
Because she’s too shamed or cowardly
To stand up for what she believes
Or perhaps because what she believes
Doesn’t stand up,
Sly, corrupt, dishonest
The way most true believers end up
Determined to silence my voice
To perhaps silence
The voice of guilt she hears inside
Her own pathetic head,
Placing garlic everywhere
To no affect.
No comments:
Post a Comment