It is my belief that masks are often invisible. They are tied to the face of media, sheltering truths and full stories. This poem is a break from The Way Things Are.

A little lesson on war, because the unknowing are giving their lives for the ungrateful. A good leader would never resort to war when they are given the power necessary for peace.

Today's poem might need some analyzing. You've got a long drive to the grave, just remember not to look back.

Though poetry needs no introduction; when society as we know it comes crashing down, I wonder how each role will burn with it. Acceptance, and thankfulness, or tense fingers latched on to ghosts?