We paint our placards empty

We paint our placards empty,
with so many un-sounding words,
while our troubles grow plenty,
Truth is lost under a heap of words.

We paint our feelings,
in colour, in fervent endeavor,
To match the tenor of our souls,
Sometimes dark, sometimes in fervor.
We paint our discourse in lies,
Bringing to life a splash false amity
to see us thro’ a short friendly day ere,
we are torn apart by an infant calamity.

All we do is paint,
brushes nonchalant at hand,
we may unknowingly paint,
Our existence extinct.