Blindfolded

August 30, 2019

Dying the slow death of political infection,

it hides within our words

As we try to run, and try to hide,

its plague a constant scourge

Poisoning the water, despoiling our thoughts,

all freedom it commands

Directing the folly, conscripting all joy

—our blindfold it demands

(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.