Hypocrites

The wind whips within
The windows, whining
To be free, falling, frozen
In time forever,
But it bows out because
Its blood is too thin
Or maybe much too thick
For this warm morning
That reflected light on the rain
That rattles off the hood of my car
As I drive leisurely down
The damp, shadow darkened road
Heading for God knows what,
Desperate to hear hope straining,
Tugging and tearing at its bonds.
Time has not been kind nor true
To the lies that rolled off the lips
Of the living men and women,
Who never knew they lied
Until the untruths nodded at them
On sidewalks, slipping slowly by,
And staring just a little too long
At the creators of the creatures
That crawled and creeped in the dark.
Innocence gilds the cages
Men and women give their ghosts,
Their lies that joust each other
For just the right spot to jeer
At the frauds as they fail
Trying to feel as if they’ve fixed
All the pretenses of people
Picking and choosing who pays
For the crimes, and who can
Sit in the cold and rest or shiver
Until the very moment
Their value is given, and they must venture
Rigidly into the daylight,
Rolling their shoulders and writhing
Under the cold clockwork
Stares of citizens who can’t see stars.
The zealots search the zoo
For zippers to shut in the monsters
That peer out into the past
Seeing into the paper souls of the passing
People, beasts that bear
Another name but aren’t better.
Rain falls quickly on the rocking chair
That touches the porch railing
Sped along by wind searing
My skin with steely, sinister breath.
The wind wants to be with me.
Why won’t it come in to play?

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