Post truth, post love, post reason, that’s a start

The art of lying seems to have a master
His face betrays his mind and lack of heart
He lies much longer, wilder faster

It’s not unclear he’s driving to disaster
And poisoned by  desire, we’ll  play our part
The art of lying seems to have  its Hitler

“Other” truth, a verbal sticking plaster
Post truth, post love, post reason, that’s a start
He lies  like Stalin, wilder faster

Aghast, we stare, yet kneel to our new master.
If this is real, then we are in the dark
The art of lying seems to have a master

He  revels in his lies, hides not his laughter
We’re with the children in the bloody park.
He lies like Nero, viler faster.

Who are they now governed by a shark
Cold and silent without voice or bark?
The art of lying seems to have  its master
He lies much crueller, wilder, faster

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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