Blindfolded
Dying the slow death of political infection,
it hides within our words
As we try to run, and try to hide,
its plague a constant scourge
Poisoning the water, despoiling our thoughts,
all freedom it commands
Directing the folly, conscripting all joy
—our blindfold it demands
(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2019
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