Discrepancies.
Repeatedly spoken.
Diminish beliefs.
And into pieces a trust,
Leaving goodwill of the people...
Unable to fix.
Left forever broken.
Yet continued heard from mouth to ear,
Discrepancies flipped to be flopped is clear.
Truth to speak it.
No longer exists.
And those who once knew it,
Know today it is missed.
Dismissing it are the misfits.
Brewing to stir and serve their crap.
Slow as it cooks,
In crock pots batched.
So efficient discrepancies with mentalities mixed.
Truth used as a seasoning,
No longer is needed as a requirement.
Since truth as an ingredient,
More find unnecessary to the taste and flavor.
It is discrepancies only.
Cooked up slow and crocked.
Today people crave,
More than not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem