Out
here in the undiscovered dark,
I
hear the voice of a phantom.
(Or
is it the voice of a lost relative
calling
out from the other side
of
an invisible hill?)
Across
town, cameras flash
as
a minister holds a press conference
in
the vestibule of a church.
He
drinks from the poisoned water of his own ego.
His
finger points away from himself.
More
children are dying every day.
Bombs
continue to fall
while
the world sleeps.
No
one controls this cloud we ride on.
No one knows how to get off.
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