Steve Nayar

Rookie (14 October 1954 / Leek, Staffordshire, UK)

Freedom Of The Press - Poem by Steve Nayar

Words scratch their taloned certainty through human pulp
Vanity made sharp, honed, maliciously manicured.
These are the weapons of mass destruction
Here lies the cause of every scar…

Spark the thought,
Ignited hands encircle literary pyre,
Quills ironically record the deed,
Minds flashing, eyes enlightening
Tongues wagging, teeth chewing
The last glowing embers of verbal feast,
As we play victim, and they play beast.
Freedom of the press,
To distort, delet and generalise,
And thus, us oppress.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about Freedom Of The Press by Steve Nayar

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Thursday, July 14, 2005

[Report Error]