The Marketeer’s Lament
The lies
The lies they spread
Have become their truth
I know the pain of such things
As I once stood among them
Bleeding out
Spiraling out
Trying to fathom
What once was mine
Failing to grow back
To the center
Yes — the center of all things
Too much to handle so I’m gone
For now and always
Unless
Unless the last tree
Stands against the last wind
And there is more time
For Sapiens to merge
With their good fictions
Against their bad confabs
With their bright legends
Against their terminal myths
I know the pain of that fight too
Yesterday
Before I died
I wrote the book on it all
Propaganda pays for a while
Until it doesn’t
— by Douglas Pinson