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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540654" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Matter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is the fact from the ficition? <br> <br> The fiction from the fact? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Does it matter if I exact, my P's and Q's? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Does it matter that? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Tomorrow I may tell you I love you</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And then talk about that, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And how the weather decides to hate you</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And me, now that's a fact! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Who cares if tongues that are free to silence</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Talk violence? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And still use a chain for liberty! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Forsaking the homeground<br> <br> The knownground</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Where only roots spoil im morality</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And the weed always grows</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Under the seed of prosperity<br> <br> And what is fact is fact</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And to extract fiction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Is a matter of diction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Who cares if tomorrow</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The mother smothers her lover? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Her child sways to the side of the road</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Where the blind man crosses</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Passes without looking</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Turning a blind I to </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Her stunted growth</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> When truth grows on trees</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And fruit falls easily</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And tomorrow she will tell you</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She loved you</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Before the root set in to trap</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Before her heart was mortgaged to you, by a thread</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> At a price she could not pay</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And After too much rain</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Her grief will tell you</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Too much hate</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And how love is a beautiful rose</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> A full red thorn</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> On which too much blood is drawn</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And how too many babies born alone</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Die in cold alleyways</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And fact is just as bad as fiction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The material is immaterial</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Squalid leftovers</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In overturned sacks of dispair</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The rats crawl over the hungry</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Without a care</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> As the beggar turns the wheel</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To conceal the sign</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Of the time</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Stamped on the back of a dirty dime</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Dollar for dollar</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Pound for pound</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And who knows where he will dine? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> He rides home in the back of a silver mercedes</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> He carries a Homeless Sign! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 'And I can only tell you, the auto-cue told me these things! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>     Auto cue........aka yvette smith</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Yvette+Smith">Yvette Smith</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540654" data-title="Matter de Yvette Smith" data-description="Where is the fact from the ficition? 
 
 The fiction from the fact? 

 Does it matter if I exact, my P's and Q's? 

 Does it matter that? 

 Tomorrow I may tell you I love you

 And then talk about that, 

 And how the weather decides to hate you
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