Anathema

Your words are dust
borne on the wind of time.
Where shall they fall to rest?
they invade my understanding
and like the deathly poison
Of the West African brown
they render me senseless

Your words are arrows
shot into the air,
they fall to the ground on once
fertile fields
spreading salt and strife.
Where harmony lived,
peace is now laced with black

your words are bullets
dipped in radio-active fluid,
they are shining and humming
forming an echo which
bounces back from stupidity
in ever larger curves
igniting everything.
Even the innocent are
infected and must be destroyed

Yet you say smiling broadly
"My words are called Truth"