Tuesday, In the Year of the Plague

By Cliff Lake

 

Tuesday, In the Year of the Plague

 

Adrift I am in information,

Canard concocted without cessation.

Am I drowning in misconception,

Or in the more turbulent deception.

 

The ship careens: I am thrown.

The lies are paid, the truth on loan.

And how to brave the cruel cyclone,

How far away is certainty blown?

 

Fact buried beneath the wave,

How many left that we must save?

Sharks in the water, legitimacy bleeds,

Know they will give no quarter, what of our needs?

 

How do we with the storm contend,

What reality are we to suspend?

Acidic lies rain without end,

Beneath these waters will we descend?

 

Honesty’s lifeboat under duress,

How do we paddle out of this mess?

Can the ship be righted out of distress?

Who will answer the SOS?

 

Abandoned we are in heavy seas,

Afloat and unmoored in oily sleaze,

Tossed by storm more like disease,

Gods swept away we might appease.

 

Off course, backs to the mast,

How to endure the fetid blast?

Will we bear up, will we hold fast?

Can we get grounded at last?

 

Adrift we are in disinformation,

Canard concocted without cessation.

Keep from drowning in misconception,

Or in the more turbulent deceptions.

 

Cliff Lake 3/26/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Washington, DC, USA

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