Nowadays it seems everyone

wants to play the

fake news/sensationalism game.

The rules? Take one part

of philosophical truth. Bend or

distort it as needed. Then add

some outright lies concerning

certain occurrences which may

or may not have ever happened.

Mix in some rumors

and suppositions which all hint

at either perceived or

supposedly undeniable impending

disasters, and then serve up

to a left-leaning American

media hungry for gossip

and the distortion of fact

And here’s my meager

personal attempt at the

recipe disclosed in this

poem’s first verse. My

“dish” is slanted toward

the right however, rather

than toward the left,

which is the norm for

fake disclosures; and

I’ve centered my “delicacy”

with the possible release

back into American society

of someone who participated

in murder

One of the butchers of 69

has passed a parole board

and could be released

into American society – think

about that you who continually

criticize America’s working class

But if it should turn out

that this poem is more

about its writer than its

supposed subject(s), that won’t

matter much to that writer,

just as it doesn’t concern him

that the certain person now

considered for re-entry into society

came from a non-impoverished background

I never cared whether person X

had more money than person Z,

or whether person Y successfully

passed his or her wealth

on to his or her heirs, in fact,

I hope he or she did

But I think that all

the good and bad events

that have occurred across

the years of my human existence

have validated my right

to write what I’m writing

now, and, I’ve heard that

someday the great parole board

in the sky will review

everyone’s resume, and say either

“Live eternally now with the

Son of God,” or, “Spend

forever now with Master Lucifer”

But can you forgive me?

Can you forgive a man

who once believed America

was his, but then later learned

it belonged to illegal aliens

and “dreamers”?

And it’s now become apparent

that at the end of one’s

earthly days all one can

hope for is that whatever

one may have done in

forthrightness will take

precedence over any diabolical

acts one may have had

involvement in, such as

the time one may have thrown

one’s garbage on a neighbor’s lawn,

or the time one was driving

down the highway with convertible

top rolled down, and a man

with a gas can in hand

yelled back at that one

“If only I’d have used

(gas name deleted) I’d have

gotten two miles more per gallon,

and wouldn’t have run out

before I got home”

But at nineteen

we’re hopefully old enough

to know that one

reckless action

can either take or ruin a life

It had been only

two years since the

Summer of Love, and

I’d almost “bought in”

to the supposedly joyous dogma

that other people

really care about other people

But then one day,

in the midst of my concern

about the Southeast Asian War,

I learned that some innocents

had been brutally murdered,

and that their killers

had written some words

on the wall with their blood

And I suppose it’s been

a somewhat lonely lifetime

existing behind the bars which

for all those years have

now separated those killers

from the so-called

“common men and women”

But I won’t lie,

it’s behind those bars

I hope those killers

will remain, if for no

other reason than the

justification that their

past actions grant to such

people as have, for all those

years, spent in alienation – years

spent, I’d say, “behind the screen,”

but not behind a screen

which propels one’s image

out upon the public – no,

rather a screen which one

uses in one’s attempt to

“screen out” the “demons of

the everyday,” – the demons

which visit one’s mind

when one thinks back

to all the “crap” that

“went down” years ago

And yet, in a sense

that crap continues to appear

to this day when in our

nation’s halls of government

self-righteous liberals

mock and chastise America’s

middle class, and tell it

to have more concern about

the enemies of America, and

more compassion for those

living illegally within

America’s borders – and especially

if those illegals

are such types

as may be
“dreaming”