Rumor Control Poem by Alfred Ramos

In exalted dreams
We turn into mongrels
Excavate the deepest dungeons
For precious morsels of life
Searching for that gossip column so refined
Searching for insatiated cravings
Of an obstinate affair with another’s wife
Many good intentions are trivially divorced
And backstabbing an elaborate scheme
By using a crooked, rusted, misused knife
The thorns of the vines
Do not stop the battle charges one bit
The juices of the fruit
Are too sweet to want to quit
The truth is bent and twisted
And bait is thrown out by the ton
The egg evolves, gets scrambled
And an omelet comes out well done
Fuel is added to the fire
Crosses burned down upon ones lawn
Prayers are said in haste
All hoping for a new dawn
When all been said
And the truth is buried in the ground
There seems to be a lull
Who started it, you don’t hear a sound