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Silent Infliction
Silence breeds a droning bunch,
a blackened kettle, a stolen lunch.
The dismal lead while sheep give chase,
a silent echo, a spoofed embrace.
Abandoned youth viewed once again,
a manifest of mice, not men.
Hypocrites now preach the word,
murdered lines and vision blurred.
Despair entangles a shallow light,
disavowed, this tale they write.
A painted faux becomes the rage,
dyed and bleached on every page.
A conjured trick becomes their ruse,
theft and fraud showcase thy muse.
Invisibly, the truth is moot,
concealed in dirt, this hidden root.
Copyright ©
Mark Koplin
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