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

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