Dark Matter

I know less and less about

more and more. I am learning
how I should be shut

up and stay that way. Opinions
are balm for the less-

informed; facts are for the 
fast trackers to argue. I am entitled

to have my own opinion but not to love
your facts. Argument’s all

I have to make me feel something,
make me feel some small control over

fate and fact. I shouted enough,
now it’s time to

act. Time’s ticking.  Ticking
isn’t enough; it’s time to

blow things 
up.  Up and over the walls,

up and over the weird walls
of leveraging how I’m supposed

to be now that I have no footing
I’m used to and have to shut 

up and all that, supposed to listen
when I can’t understand what’s being

said. I can’t understand 
being.  I can’t understand so

much, have a million statements
in my…

View original post 14 more words


About Léa

A wanderer who has found home and herself in the South of France.
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2 Responses to Militia

  1. glendadoodle says:

    This is a rather stunning poem, thank you

    • Léa says:

      Tony is one of my favourites and I have reblogged him several times.
      I am planning to answer you email… I’m just struggling with a few issues currently. I am sorry! xxx

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