I Am Forgotten

I am truth and I am forgotten. 
Cast out for sensationalism and profit. 
If you look hard enough, you may find me
crying at the bottom of page 45, 
or hidden away in a grainy documentary. 

I am love and I am forgotten. 
Replaced by lust and selfish desire. 
I am still there, but I’m not encouraged. 
Because sex sells, and I don’t. 
Because I don’t parade around
in my lingerie. 

I am knowledge and I am forgotten. 
displaced by who wears what, why and when. 
The cult of personality draws attention
while I, pariah, wander the wastes
and too few meet me. 

I am joy and I am forgotten. 
Well, less forgotten and more corrupted. 
I used to be free, but now I come with a price. 
Slapped upon me by slavemasters 
who decide what your smile is worth. 

I am a human being, and I am forgotten. 
My stories don’t litter your papers or TVs. 
I am capable of great things, yet achieve nothing. 
I appear to be but capital, tied up in flesh. 
But I am a human being. 
and I am forgotten.