Soap Boxes and Baloney Fare
SOAP BOXES
and
BALONEY FARE
The cause, the same, yet shifted gradually
with the scope and wrinkles of time.
What political soul raged in a life before
to give her this untested strength of conviction
spouted on soap boxes and baloney fare?
Where is the serenity she prays nightly for,
for surely she deserves no less
than complete cessation of chaos,
as weighed down as her soul has been
by sorrow and suffering?
Justice, she feels, must surely come.
Yet justice is a man-made ideal,
destroyed as surely by that same system,
and does not truely embrace veracity
as it might portray in satellite pictures.
She finds no reason for her sudden truths
that sprang whole from some well of thought
well-hidden.
Does the span of years soften the edges
of the hard-won convictions,
as it does the frail housings for these souls?
Which facet of her wholeness
will become the predominant face she shows the world,
and how shall that be decided?
Will this facade be her truth,
or only the sum & product of years of brick-laying
and decades of digging moats
to protect her heart from marauding invaders?
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