Falling Stars

When the stars fall from the flag like rain and there is no milk without the taste of blood, the horrible truth remains. Lies become served like cookies on a plate. Truth becomes buried beneath the weeping tile, away from plain sight. There are no hymns, just silage full of stink. We smell it in, bent upon our knees in supplication, incredulous and horrified. No dog, no monkey, no snake, just a Jackboot of deceit, straight into the face. There has never been a time when we don’t own the fault.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is love – Sophocles

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