Staying a Clarisse

We’ve all seen them, those little black bars that block out certain anatomy, or those blurry images that manage to disguise, oh so well might I add, vulgur actions. But I ask you, do they really do all that good? All those black bars and blurry images do is leave things to the imagination, and from experience, the imagination can sometimes be worse than the real thing. Should we censor things? And how much is too much? I ask you this because I recently contemplated censoring the content of my blog, because I don’t want to start drama or make people uncomfortable, but in the end I decided against it. I don’t want to become a Guy Montag, burning precious knowledge (in this case my ideas) without a second thought, or a Mildred, just sitting around idly and letting my thirst for knowledge die. No, I will stay a Clarisse, and I will keep questioning, and demanding those little black bars be removed, cause really, how bad could it be underneath?
Lyrical Love,
Cara

233 Degrees Celsius

The lovely scent of gasoline
Is what I smell when I reach the scene
Crackling paper, the strike of a match
The wind whips widly at what it can't catch
Fire races and licks the walls
Picture frames crack, and smash in the halls
A huddled creature, alone in her room
Awaiting her death, they are sealing her doom
Burning, burning
But the clock keeps turning
Paper flakes drift down from the sky
A grim warning to others that knowledge must die
“It’s for your protection! It’s for your own good!”
I want to believe, I wish that I could
But the paper flakes dance, and wave me goodbye
Why must something so beautiful have to die?