The stage is set while the cameras blink
at the spectacle your lives represent
They throw you to the wolves
and kick you when you’re down
and for a moment all of our petty lives
don’t seem that dull

How you must count the hours
alone and isolated
warped with regret
tabulate the minutes to your next meal
Mark the footsteps
of the hand that feeds you

Snap at the thought of
walking through the door
and into a room filled with people
that want something from you:

justice, sensation, prejudice
a picture
a story

…. and then when the crossfire ends you are at peace
with yourself and the dark,
the cold
and the safety of what you know
will never, ever change

1 August 2008

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