Of Freedoms Rim
They would have all of our thoughts
align in eclipse of the truth
blot from our eyes cold tears
not shed at reasons death
No more the fiendish touch
of tempting speech
to challenge questions asked
and why
Nor does the hand of wonder
dare reach to touch
for fear it might enrage
the gods they praise
Thus do the lemmings march
to chanted hymn
along the darkened edge
of freedom's rim
John G. Lawless
3/1/2021
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