War is fertile territory for hyperbole, to put it kindly. More to the point, war is built on lies. Big lies. Little lies. Really big lies. Truth is the first casualty of war — most of the rest are civilians. This poem takes to task the media as lapdogs snacking on convenient lies than doing the actual work of reporting and fairly integrating the inconvenient truths strewn a bout.
Repleting Lies
The secretaries of war called
Mirrorly won more
Press conference
Designed too replete lies
And for truly scrappy correspondence
In bedded journalists
The tip of the spear stuck
Wear truth lies
As only wore propaganda
And naked fiction frozen
As lockness monster
A hit and myth undertaking
Increasing make believe ability
As parrot with irrelevant dictums
A vicious cycle of knews
Re-hearsing and re-hearsing
Till their grate reword
Reckoned just
Doing their jobs
Aping muck rakers
