new born eyes like sponge, absorbs

love and hate alike:

a baby cries, screams, grows to become

child of spotted dots, still largely innocent

though the first frown suggest

a knowledge that a white lie told is above

hell but not yet heaven unless

the narrator was a mirror opposite,

then the notion of white and black becomes

a question of philosophy.

thus the nagging teenager seen as troubled,

oh that nuisance, and the colleagues, the relatives

all nod sympathetically at how awful this raging

hormone filled vengeful spirit is, as if they

were not once upon a time

all that dark robed rolled veils bundles tightly

in a casket, lips sewn shut with the same exact words

do as i tell you, not as i do

and the young adults now behaves the same way,

taking on a role when all the sorting has been dished out,

a doctor, a judge, a criminal, a villain,

to each their own music is crystal clear, the only reality

beckoning in a world of craft, invisibility, power

serves as justice, just like the teenager being told

what is. do not talk about, says the judge.

outside the courtroom, the heroes are singing of verdicts

made – a question of philosophy or power?

neither, the machine rolls, lags, heaves, chugs, torments,

then pleasure comes when the marketing department

eases tension, a story is sold to be truth

though the rats have gotten bigger, the cats smaller

all this while – a man sings of forgotten days not to be remembered.

and might as well be whatever it was

because all the keys have been hidden by grandma,

who is still keeping her best cookies for herself.