By the great actor and orator John Bowe
THE FOG
The fog has descended
Black fog, black dog,
Heavy, dense, damp, drenching us,
Needles piercing us with fear
Bodies lurching in the black,
Sink into the murk
Pass into the dirt.
We do not see.
Voices reassure us,
Words with papers and badges,
Knowledge with degrees and diplomas,
Elevated to guide us
Into the fog,
Privilege pushing us
Deeper in the bog.
Don’t ask where we went
You won’t see the numbers
You must not see the data
Must not see the facts
Maybe later.
Don’t ask what this ‘vaccine’ is.
Don’t ask what the dangers are
Walk on in the fog
Walk on in the dark.
There is a hand
There is a light.
Take that hand
It leads you from that night.
Then look around
See what was always meant
And don’t ask where we went.
-John Bowe