The Journalist’s Lies

“The rules are simple: they lie to us, we know they're lying, they know we know they're lying, but they keep lying to us, and we keep pretending to believe them.”

 ― Elena Gorokhova, A Mountain of Crumbs



Lions brawn teeth hair fierce mane
Death silent sentient salient insane

First a scratch on marble, neglected
It widens, all see it, neglect it
Blood oozes pus, we gonna let it

What's a little Fib to evil? 
One starts the rise to new levels
Then one again before in shovels
It leaps to hell totally disheveled

2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21
Fibs eat laxity with no laxatives on
34 climbing up to 4-1-8-1
Eyes turn away; what's a little Fib growing? 
We'll find a way even when Truth's gone. 

Lions brawn teeth hair fierce mane
No courage to face pain to heal game
It's not all false, it's not all bane
So let's pretend everything here is sane
Let's let evil remodel and set its reign
Death silent sentient salient insane

(c) nyonglema




After Trump 2

So now Trump lost, and Facebook, Twitter, Alphabet, Hollywood and the MSM won...

Hold back your tears, Marcus Antonius, as the toga
With holes which is prop to your words.

Lost for words, the crowds try to catch your every word.
Their ears try to synthesize hope from them, 
The man on the pedestal will no more give them such hope
And hopefully he taught them how to fish. 

No more will their voices be heard, even 
As the gramophone goes silent. 
For four years they heard their echo with solutions
And saw these take form according to their wish. 

The storm within seeks an outlet to simmer down, 
But Caesar wasn't enough for the conspirators.
They want more blood, as a cat taunting its catch, 
The murderer stabbing the lifeless victim
Forgetting that anger leads always to great evil
Especially when egged on by a victor's muzzle.

Hold back your tears, Marcus Antonius, and keep peace, 
In spite of Newton's third law, hold back, keep peace.

(c) nyonglema

After Trump

What if Trump lost, and Facebook, Twitter, Alphabet, Hollywood and the media won: 

The people are stunned, hanging on a breath
To see the fallen giant hiding in shame. 
Fear, confusion fills the senate, as death
Lingers on the faces of hate untamed. 
Iron on their toga flows down their arms, 
Down to the iron in their fateful hands
Hanging on the final breath of the land's
Greatest leader, hanging frustrated and calm. 

Sullen the face of Brutus the conspirator, 
With shadows emerging from his wrinkles
To ask questions: heroes or vain traitors? 
Wrong or right? In barely a star's twinkle
The future was set, and in this dead calm
With J's blood still fresh on his hair strands
Clinging to what was life, what was grand
Brutus ponders what good was done, or what harm. 

At Pompeii's feet, sprawled is the victor, 
Ironically repenting for his actions past.
And the people, confused and totally unsure
How to continue the game with the dice he cast
Seek a new leader with such venom, yet much charm, 
Fighting for them like he had a magic wand. 
CNN will finally never need to recant. 
He put the future back in the people's hands. 

(c) nyonglema