What is truth,
Other than fiction?

An oil addition,
And political corruption,
From party contributions.

A narrative repeated,
Resources depleted,
Until resistance defeated.

A move to perception change,
From being considered strange,
Into unequivocally deranged.

Think this is a lie?
Look back and histories cry,
And witness those who die.

The best amongst us,
The ones who raised a fuss,
The holy and the righteous.

A bullet to silence
Those in defiance.
Those highlighting the hypocrisy of the violence.

‘But that’s the past’ you say,
‘It no longer happens that way’.
Perhaps, but wait until today is yesterday.

Then today’s leaders
Will be seen to be the cause of the bleeders,
Covert operations and illegal seizures.

But don’t you worry,
There’s nothing to be done,
It’s just how it is,
under our radiant sun.
They will continue taking,
At the barrel of a gun,
With the sign of a pen,
Or a secret bank run.

Knowing that truth is a lie
Won’t help you get by,
At best you’ll cry,
At worst your entire family will die.

Cause if you speak up too loudly,
They’ll come at you proudly,
Exclaiming that you’re dastardly,
And probably bastardly.

Your image will be dragged into the dust,
Your assets left to rust,
Your body buried below the crust.

So,
Open your mouth and swallow the narrative,
The truth is fiction and you will believe their prediction.

Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,
Cause really, what good could you actually do?

Just a full stop.
Just a conspiracy top.
Just a dead-beat flop,
with nothing more to drop.

Realise that truth you share won’t make it to air. But that air you used to share will be the last you ever dare.

Read another poem from A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
Out now: eBook, paperback, hardcover and audio book

Poetry

Zachary Phillips