Person Of Interest

Behind lines of plastic
there stand and sit the
forlorn and waning
stacks of people
and their unwritten
words of wisdom.
Lenses lend their endless sight.

We click back at them,
digesting some response
through a dry throat that
makes silence the
greatest tool at
our disposal.
This is my timeless plight.

In name I am honoured,
revered by the drooling
mass: I am their beast.
Let them throw stones
and cans of boiled meat
through the rain!
Let them sing!

I am a ghost in the
quietest of ways
and when the shutters click
their way starboard
I am only as blind
as their boldest;
harrowed by this and that.
Let them sing!
Let them sing!


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