old stories give us no reason to wonder
at who the actors were or what they cared
their history's existence was a blunder
or else a false account that no one dared
to challenge or to just define as wrong
because that would have meant accepting fact
and it's much easier to hear a simple song
and then applaud in a display of tact
we've seen them emerge from the deepest hell
but never wondered what they saw in there
and if they wanted to speak out then well
we made pretense of kindness and of care
the answer to the question's never said
it's kept inside the guardian's fine head
Odd ravings, comments, and other wastes of time. Some are in plain prose, yet others are in rhyme.
24 November 2006
brightness is all
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