We couldn’t live without them, lies,
could we? It’s difficult to see
how we’d meet each other’s eyes.
Our lives are lies disguised by v.
Do Aunties really have to know
the strict proportions of their derrieres?
Can’t we let our bosses glow
at how we tremble, how we care?
Of course they don’t. Of course we can.
This is life, not Sunday school;
if Daddy isn’t Superman,
to tell him so is merely cruel.
And if your war is going wrong,
why get the people all upset?
Just sing a patriotic song.
The dead won’t tell. The dead forget.
3 comments:
The living forget even faster
That is freaking rock n roll man!
our lives are lies disguised by v, great thought in the poem.
rock on :)
N
Ah but do the dead forget - what if they come back to haunt?
And of course, Pisces is quite right - tragically.
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