The Truth Is Hiding in Plain Sight; More’s the Pity
When I sallied forth to share my insight,
just one voice in the wild multiplicity
They told me to go fly a kite;
it seemed that’s just life in the big city
Then I recalled as it began to take flight
how Ben Franklin discovered electricity
But instead of a key I attached a flashlight
and searched in the dark for felicity
Yet from such a very great height
the light cone spread far on duplicity
And I saw with a trembling fright
the godforsaken glaring facticity
Of a people who can only but smite
with an unfailing automaticity
At the merest hint of a slight–
witness this, the modish toxicity
So, if we’re to survive this blight
I can tell you in perfect simplicity
It’s either freeze, flight, or fight,
bringing us near specificity
And it’s surely the latter that’s right–
in the end, let there be no complicity
Dear old Ben, may the plain truth be our plight
not their electric chair of authenticity
