And that was that,

trial and judgement complete.

They decided

I wasn’t making a valid contribution to society,

so they censured me

(apparently I was too bad to be merely censored).

They locked me away,

for the masses’ safety.

Contrast,

the celebrated

the appreciated,

like the baker

who makes the cake

that kills your grandmother,

and the woodworker

whose makeshift efforts creak and crumble,

time,

time,

time.

Poxy insidious,

invidious

injustice.

 

©ddr7hd

 

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