judging harmony

the foul taste of harmony

 was never enough for me

I stood astride a vacant lot of souls

to tell them they were wrong

to tell them they they’d mistook harmony

for truth

it isn’t the fact that our days are numbered

it isn’t even the fact that my days are numbered

the woeful pain of righteousness is beset

on the deliberate cruelty we visit on each other

day by day

at every opportunity

the foul taste of harmony

means we’re complicit

in the very nature of a wicked truth

we’ve hoped never to be judged by