The evening news is full of fiction, false
As the reality that Bravo scripts
Or stars first learning how to do a waltz --
It's lying entertainment to our crypts.
I'd rather have true fiction's truth -- depict
Complexity and ambiguity,
Real humans in all that they contradict,
And into which the wisdom-seekers flee.
The poet's song of myth betrays the truth
In sonic salvos, raucous rhythms, rhymes
That tap into maturity of youth
And help us see that always of sometimes.
The playwright brings the audience its role
Of practiced practice, scripted falsehoods true,
Presented to those present with their soul
United in a psychic deja vu.
The satirists give all our news aslant
And thus remain the only ones we trust --
We know the liars never will recant,
So facts are gained from satire we adjust.
And on the internet the jackals lie
Awaiting all our cynical beliefs --
Conspiracies and Luddites which defy
All reason are the new nonsense motifs.
My friends, we poets wait for your return
To us and all the truthful myths we write --
I promise we forgive the recent spurn
You gave us -- we will not return the slight.
We want to welcome you back from the fake
Reality and to the truth of myth --
It's in our dreams you'll truly be awake --
Our lines will cut the lies down like a scythe.