No Shortage of Fools

We're outnumbered by

Fools.

My point is no exclamation

Times are serious

Still the fool

Roams unchecked wrecking

Souls on the rocks

In want for ignorance's bliss

Nothing social about media.

When the fool picks his type

Objecting to pure air

Punctuating dark against light 

The arena

Packed with couch-tators

Barbed words the poisoned arrows

Targeting free men

Intelligence is not an age.

There is such a thing

As bad publicity.

Some people shouldn't be

Seen as well as heard

But there's no working filter

That tolerates any harmony

With the melody populaire:

Drinks for all are welcome

I will, as always, be found

Prodding against the grains

Sifting chaff from wheat

Searching for truth kernels

Marie-Therese Knepper