Ingredients:
1. One pinch of sugar (Honey can sub)
2. A dash of what works
3. 1/2 teaspoon of table salt ( Or sea salt )
4. 1 large egg (Egg whites for real)
Instructions:
1. Mix them together until light and fluffy.
2. Flatten the lumps out, soften the sharpness
3. Blend until the texture mellows the taste of reality.
Secret sauce: Seven spices to taste.
Just don’t tell what they really are. EVER.
Lies, the woven webs, of those who practice to deceive,
oh the lies that’s told, to whomsoever will believe.
Lies work hard, to take your heart earned trust,
then behind your back, it’s under foot, in dust.
Lies, like little white lies, oh the lies that be,
even at the most, the lies through the centuries.
Destroyer’s with words, and killers of the heart,
and in this, have we not all, played our part.
Lies, they kill, they steal, and destroy you see,
appearing to be good things, then brings forth their misery.
Just like the spider, their webs, they never leave,
and the first ones fooled, is those who practice to deceive.
I've heard many talk about honesty,
As though it is the best quality.
I know I hoped to be truthful,
But deep inside I acknowledge I was only brutal.
I've told them the horrible things many have done,
As a hypocrite, one could assume I held an empty gun.
I could pull the trigger,
But the bullet wouldn't speed past,
The only real difference would be the expressions so vast.
This would make me a liar,
but isn't that what the performance arts are?
the production is based on lies, but it seems as though it is the truth from afar.
Would being a liar truly be a sin?
If being truthful is what makes others hurt within.
One could consider every lie white,
For it may be the wrong words,
but compared to the honest, a liars' intentions are right.
Mourning the wicked is something I'll never do
The death of evil will always be long overdue
There is no shame in the joy of a dead threat
If we celebrate, we will not tolerate judgement
You laugh over black death as if it is irrelevant
So why would we care about the death of a white supremacist
All the empathy went to a white man
Did the bank run out for the innocent black man
Or is it just a privilege only whites get
And us black people get left with the debt
They'll label evil as a martyr
As long as its face is the colour of paper
Humanised is the oppressors
Yet the oppressed are labelled the aggressors
Justice favours those with privilege
And the true victims are met with disdain and discrimination
A backwards society -
Where no one cares if you are innocent
If you are a black person
Native tribe thrives, they share their lives
Native tribe's school, mother land's rule
Native tribe tries, white man speaks lies
White man makes rule, white man's hand cruel
Native tribe's toil, mother land's oil
White man spies fuel, white man's eyes drool
Tribe's land narrows, white man's arrows
Mother land dies, native tribe cries
White man's hand thrives, white man takes lives
Mother land cries, native tribe dies
A lie that is coloured white
A lie that make things seem all right.
A lie that leaves you asking why
Discovering those lies that made you cry.
Lies exposed, were meant as a joke
The lies that many hearts have broke.
Lies to conceal a secret love affair
The liars lie, is the truth they swear.
Scheming lies to scam for money
Lies told that were deemed as funny.
Lies can relate to anything
But often it's pain it tends to bring.
That little white lie that Santa is real
Habitual liars in overkill.
A lie told in kindness to comfort or protect
When a lie is discovered what's the affect?
A good liar will hide it well
Blinds you under their misleading spell.
The question is, why do we lie at all?
Whether they are big, white or small.
Harmless lies are weaved in white
Cunning lies are black as night.
A lie means intention to deceive
Is it good or bad what a lie tries to achieve?
I never said the fish was that big,
just long enough for your surprise.
Yes, the sky did fall down once -
though not in ways you've come upon.
The art of the little white lie
is a Trojan horse disguised
to catch your attention.
To trick you to pose or question
what you'd never otherwise ask.
The lie, error or mistake,
flips the mind to correction,
demanding reparation.
It works a treat for advertisers
lecturers, presenters, debaters and charlatans.
It begs the question, demeans the ask-er,
but masters the magician's
conjuring tricks of deception.
A fool takes the bait,
a wise one casts acting the fool.
Telling a white lie
Sure is easy, am I right?
But dig further in your mind
Why must you lie?
Is the truth not good enough for you?
When you were a kid
Did you say you wore a tutu
When really, you still slept with your teddy named moo moo
It's alright if the truth isn't cool
But think about the lasting affect
Don't make yourself look like a fool
Be kind and tell them
I'm sorry I lied
But if I told you the truth
Things could get ugly
You say what they want you to say
and favours will always come your way.
Backhanded compliments are meant to disturb
Yet on surface pretend to be a polite white bird
Giving fake hazel humor or slighted cranberry concern
When the person pretending to teach needs to learn
Learn the lessons of southern hospitality amber and
If you’re guessing know you can catch these hands
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawns a courtroom closing in on midday, and a cheery sun
uncovering its place being less demanding--a sage who
dons sufficiently in her vocation that imparts one who bears
a respectable position, and one of a high office--so without
delay, the judge withdraws to his chambers for consultations
with the defense attorney and prosecutor, et al., she then
advances towards the lone defendant from her private seat
in the gallery--an officer of the court, immediately takes
notice of her movements and in anticipation presented her
with a chair for her pleasure--the defendant who sees her,
respectfully stands, whereto, she politely informs him that
he may remain seated and air him in a one-sided
conversation being the soul speaker, and he as the soul
listener. Albeit, exceptions to that disclosure evolved at the
end as there is cause for the conversation to become ironic.
*The opener of My Short Story: White Lies, in two parts; I'm
afeared of old habits unchanged as alit surface, amid dim, and
aligned depth of mired cliché, sways a gavel 'ere ...
Today my girlfriend asked me,
How do I look in this dress?
Does it fit me like a glove?
I reluctantly said yes!
Does it make me look younger?
It's just perfect I replied.
So not to hurt her feelings,
I convincingly white lied.
If you think that life
Is supposedly supposed to be fair
I can only presume you may have
Taken a wrong turn and ended up
in fools heaven
As again just to me
It sounds to me like
You or whomever told you
Or lead you into believing that
Has never really actually been
Anywhere near there
But yes for definitely
This I can most honestly and truthfully say
If Frank Sinatra owned the right
To do things his way
Then this is my way
Of preserving my state of mental health
Not joining hands
And being lead blindly by the blind
And yes I take no pride nor joy
For expressing this my view point
Out loud or in a crowd
As would nothing more nor less
Than for the above mentioned
Statement of the world to be true
But due to the fact it isn't
And I see it quite patently ain't
Id much rather choose
Not to make it any further worse
By acknowledging
And predicating this
Unholy lie
My black cat accompanies me
Home from the mailbox
As if to make sure that
The peach-colored pink moon
Won’t choose tonight
To take me
It peeks, head tilted
From behind the old church
Justly fearful of my familiar
Who sashays among the shadows
I want to say to him
You may be made of darkness,
My pet, but you do not belong
To the night, as I do
There is a brief interlude
In which God creates
The lights of the heavens again
Lest I forget
And I am back on my porch
The moon is higher now
Its blush gone
No longer shy, it lies cradled
In bare branches
Cat inside, I linger alone
And wonder
If I could ever belong to the light.
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