Tony Bush Poet Blank verse

Rumours

Rumours spreading ink 
          Blots on a character,
Insidiously virus like, 
          Duplicating cells,
Touching and impregnating 
          Once lucid beliefs
With embryo taints and 
          Darker schema.
“So, that’s him, there he is
          That’s what he did, 
Let’s hear more;”
          Truth warped out of shape,
A shifting balloon of 
          Malleable bad blood,
Twisted beyond all 
          Former recognition.
Poison pen Chinese whispers 
          Uttered, scratched,
Scrawled, trickled asides, 
          Poured and decanted
Into the ears of those dupes 
          Susceptible enough and lazy enough, 
Evil enough
          To propagate the lies.
If said enough times, 
          It becomes tangible, factual,
A construct of the real world.
          Initially I trod 
Upon an ant,
          By Easter 
I killed Jesus;
          By Christmas, guess
I’ll hang for it…

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