Reason rests where it’s louder.And not where it’s dead.


We are unsure,

If there ought to be an outrage,

At murder by the masses.

And why is that so?

Maybe because we want somebody to point our fingers at and scream:


And because the mob,

Might have one of our own.

And let’s not be blown away be emotions yet.

An eyebrow raised,

You pick up on the news.

Oh, just some man beaten to death by the crowd.

You assume, that between one and many,

Reason rests where it’s louder.

And not where it’s dead.

We are unsure,

If one murder is one too many.

Aren’t we doomed as well?

Our own houses are not on fire.

On our chariots led around by horses high on ego,

We attract offense like magnets

It sticks to our skin and clings like a pin on its head trying to balance the act.
We, flushed in our sweltering self worth,

Cry out loud and are joined by the crowd.

Like magnets.



  1. Offense sticking to our skin…very good description, as is flush with self worth. Nice lines at the end.

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