The Blot Poem by Kevin Maroney

Unbiased as the wind is knowing,
to determine which way the it is blowing,
death to those who we are not,
but for what are they really the man's blot?

An amorphous beast, to gobble and feed,
changing shape to what ever the need,
a desire more, an assurance vast,
to assure the system of centuries past.

Work in or for the feed,
to the greater good or greater need?
Good, really good or bad in truth,
how does it play, into the hand or sooth?

Tools for the grinding, the shaping of fact,
to twist and foul any previous tact.
The truth, distorted, wilters and dies,
just like such radiation on humanity rides.

A cyst, a cancer metasynthesis spreads,
not real or imagined, but purposely, dread,
dread the days the truth be told,
for then come out those who must be bold,
or let the death of all that's true,
to wilt and die, in the face of rue.

Shamefaced freedom, is it worth it to you?
Or are you instead ready to start this system anew.......