A Can of Worms Bereft of Any Worth

Fact and fiction, abundance and paucity Vie for space in a world driven insane Conflating rural life and life in the city Where dealing, hustling and stealing grow inane In minds and lives Caught up in a conundrum Stabbed and clubbed by knives To the beat and feet of the drum Heard in the middle of a night So dark a stark sentiment Flies in dyes chosen by the knight Riding a high horse to the detriment Of society whose propriety Draws doubt when ludicrous lips twist and tout The truth, the naked truth in a variety Sometimes so convoluted and distorted doubt Arises at sunup In the morning when snoring Faces shake cobwebs to drink from a cup Teeming with tears at the sound of mourning Wailing without a sound Sighing without weeping Kneeling on surfaces out of bound As spies make a statement so sweeping Truth cries Facts flee from the face of the Earth As an invisible hand pries Open a can of worm bereft of any worth.