In the beginning we know not words but the noise of he that sins
The induction of destruction and obstruction of good tends
Do snowballs have a chance in hell and what does it all portend?
Am I left gasping and convulsing or will I get that second wind?
I’m not in Kansas anymore; Toto or Corporate may accept me in
These skin faders and dermis lasers are doing much less than they pretend
“Study real hard”, “don’t let down your guard”, and seven like sapient
When he grows up, will life show up or should we notify next of kin?
Who is in the mirror? Is God any nearer? And where did I begin?
Claim pots or kettles or African settles or whatever moniker gives you skin
Aren’t we all the same ‘ere what’s in a name and don’t labels expire the trend?
We’re at sixes and sevens, a fly is in the ointment, and a straw is in the wind
In the end, we remember not words of enemies but the silence of our friends*
And it’s that absence that negates. It’s that quiet that pretends.
kenn.
* ‘In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.’ – Martin Luther King Jr.
