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Steven Work's avatar

A simple poem;

--

In shadows cast by twisted tongues we dwell,

Where words, once bridges to the light of truth,

Become the chains that bind the human soul,

Corrupting essence, stealing sapient youth.

From Dalrymple's gaze on propaganda's art,

Humiliation born from lies embraced,

To Carter's cry of "Homo Umbrans" stark,

A race of shades, by ideology debased.

The fountain woman weeps in irony's grip,

Her jest recoils, a mirror to the void,

Where free speech chills 'neath cancellation's whip,

And souls dissolve in falsehoods overjoyed.

Abortion's shadow, Work's profound lament,

Thomistic vice entwined with modern pain,

Insanity's root, where judgment's bent,

Breeds umbral men in endless, darkened reign.

Yet hope endures in truth's restorative fire,

To excise rot, forgive the shadowed throng,

Redeem the lost from language's dire mire,

And lift the veil where light has waited long.

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