Revolution?

William Stapleton

Pity,
            in the precincts of doom,
            how the young ones gather round,
            like the petals in a bloom.

  Congregations of terror;
            dissatisfaction reign supreme!
            stir up the prole
            and garner control;
   Let the cause célèbre give shape to their dream.

Grimly
            now, they march against the tide,
            naïve and unsophisticated,
            to demand what’s been denied.

            Matters not what era
                        or what party they align.
                        Soon the despot steps in;
                        the chairman yet shall win.
            Chaos power bends the masses to his line.

Sadness
            sees them spend their lives this way.
            Geopolitics consuming
            precious wealth the heart should weigh.

            Children look to martyrs
                        fuel the fires of death and hate;
                        give the lie to those above -
                        make the truth the ones they love;
            Blindly spray their bitter youth against the state.

Strange,
the way some fall while others rise:
Creased brown shirt and polished shoes
displace doubts and drown out lies.

Disillusioned, now, the cynic,
apathetic in the falling dark,
sees believing as the hitch:
nasty barb of the devil’s switch.
“Lick your wounds and toe the mark.”


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Revolution? by William Stapleton is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.