Fascisms Forest

Every time he speaks
I hear the bluster and the lie
and what my mother taught me
about empty barrels
making the loudest noise
bubbles up inside
And I wonder how
the plainly evident
gets skewed in the eyes
of so many others

What did their mothers
teach them about
boisterous bullies and
skirt-chasing scoundrels?
Perhaps the words
were never spoken
or maybe only as a token
and so, we have the lost and broken
Unable to separate
the shit from shinola

They bend to the viciously simplistic
the fake paternalistic
father-knows-best
how to rule the rest
They never question
they simply fall in line
No matter the level of asinine

As we march democracy
towards that empty pit
in fascism’s forest
we hope against hope
that our eyes will open
before that final blast to the back of the head

Geoffrey Reilly is a skilled, passionate, and collaborative information designer and writer with over 30 years of experience in the software industry.  He lives in Warren, RI with his wife, two sons, and their dog, Pepsi.
In his spare time, he writes essays, poetry, and (every now and then) short stories.
You can find his creative endeavors on his blog site, Bending the Needle – Truth Hurts and on his personal website.

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