Believe Your Eyes
Do not speak to me of rights. There are
No rights. You have to know. We speak
When we're allowed to speak, of things,
Of course, which are not wrong, and
Walk where we're allowed to walk, and
Gather, not in larger groups, and not
In anger, never that, and not to criticize
The gods, the ones who lead, or happy
Thoughts that bags of water, tethered
To the surface of a tiny globe in empty
Space could be, somehow, unlike the
Stones, possessed of certain rights.
poem by Lawrence Beck
Added by Poetry Lover
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