Mon, 02/05/2018 - 20:11 -- DavidV

Why are things the way they are?

Look ahead or look back far

They are always as they seem

It's what men in white robes deem

Or so you think until the day

Until one of them tries to lay

His hands upon this thing called "fact"

And so the truth gets cut and hacked

Facts are only why they are

Until someone hits them with a car

Until they're smooshed and cracked and broken

They are but a single token

Reminted every several years

Changed despite the people's fears

So are facts really facts at all?

Or are they just a children's doll?

Played around with all day long

Waiting to be proven wrong



This poem is about: 
Our world


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