If you ask who this is,
It's not important.
That a man has a name,
What is its purpose
But recognition?
I don't care about the hate,
But I don't want praise-
Yet, I would hate to leave you in confusion.
The double edged knife,
When the answers hurt us both.
Perhaps it's better not knowing.

I have an answer,
I had one prior to the question-
So, why ask?
I would rather wonder
Than assume to know fact,
Even if I am proven wrong.
Even if it is painful.

Salting the earth

Take it from the first books-
Though you may feel you are gentle,
The judgements against you are harsh.
They span far beyond your life,
Gleaning the collective journey
Of sweat & of blood.
If your mind is clouded,
Drain the marsh.
For there are no waters
Too deep or too shallow
That will supersede a verdict.

I shutter desire,
I quiet fear,
And drag a rusty blade across my skin.
It's about what I let out,
Not what I've taken in.
These sweat and tears,
This blood that drops,
I hope you all soak it up.
Each of you, like ***** mops;
Never getting anything clean,
Just spreading all the muck around
And calling everyone *****.

The best way to goad a lie?
Believe it yourself.
But it's even easier
To convince others of the truth
Being false itself

The contrast between truth and falsehood
Lie in the whether
The inquiring party
Believe, or not;

Sufficiently convinced enough?

Listening to the great leader
And he promises better wages,
A better economy,
Safer streets,
Domestic manufacturing for national autonomy.
Just wondering when it's supposed to begin,
So far as I can see
The politicians taking the stage
Are long bought before they address the Republic.
40 years of presidents like pages,
Each turning over to new additions to a chapter
This awful period befallen our nation.
Another ink blotch, intelligible stains,
On the history of America

What peace is spoken of?
What normalcy?
More war? Further widening the gap
Between the rich & the poor?
Another mean-nothing speech,
Full of thoughts and prayers
Never to be carried to term?
Bills brought to the floor
Only to be stalled by their authors?
Flirting with failure
From manufactured crisis, and with
Pointless battles over culture.
Never have the oppressive been more direct
In their inability to lead
Views, values, beliefs;
Scavenging their remains
Akin to common vultures.