Noble Liar Poem by John Weber

That itch beneath the throb
moves from under the skin
to make my arms do the job
until will gets locked within
as drugs delay the sob
choked behind the grin.

The chameleon, with such charm
to bend a shapely curve,
hides-away potential harm
when pinned by panicked nerve
since terror transforms the farm
so eyes trained on ground won’t swerve.

We get compelled to nab
political dissidents
to lock them in this slab
for various incidents.
They teach us well how to stab
since guilt proves no coincidence.