Changing Papers 

 
Discarded paper flutters in the morning mist 

Trampled and half-crumpled it lies in a ditch 

Sunday news tainted with coffee rings 

Circling bouts of prejudice, embedded in each sentence  

The fine black print speaks distorted truths  

And so stains inky coal unto your fingers 

As bleeding voices are blotched forcefully in 

How did we come to this? 

 
 

Time ticks to the beat of the Grandfather clock 

Whilst outraged windpipes howl like wolves 

They understand veracity is rarely pure and never simple 

They know a herd will favour beautiful lies to a single, painful truth 

Still, resentful boots march a song of frustration 

Eyeing putrid, rotting souls ooze out in angry masses 

They rush to crush, and create damning obstruction 

Whilst you sit placidly at home 

 
 

Sucking like babes on the unwritten law of the press 

Savouring the warmth, the security 

Blissfully unaware of the red rain, 

The selfless sacrifice War women endured 

The arduous hecatomb televised with sneers  

Still they will dream the hazy visions of conquest 

Those women will be honoured, 

And the papers will not.

 

Camille Tissut, Year 9