Cherries in the snow
Secrets buried
Silent in sleep
The last four digits
Equal seventeen.
Long dead
Are the memories
Prepositioned
And predetermined.
One falls down
As the other sits up
The mirrored image
Both dead and alive.
Clear as day
The cutting crew
Hidden in plain sight
And walking away.
The guilty free
Dripping with blood
While the good
Are scrutinized
Over nothing at all.
They scratched out
My name
And put in their own
The liar and the fraud
Hidden in the trees.
A man without a soul
Has nothing to search
An empty vacuum
Of unfillable greed.
Making assertions
And issuing opinions
Baseless, disgusting
Useless and vile.
See them now
The vile abominations
Flaunting their power
Both liars and haters.
There is no way out
But through
And no survival
Without risk.
Sooner than you think
We all make the choice
At first a trickle
And then a flood.
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