Cost of Riotousness

Worn slowly become these token walls, From calls which have torn from unspoken words, Soon broken and falls with the sounds of the final horn, Powering a scorn from years of past, Repressing old fears, a voice is cast, Supressing vast tears, choice expressed at last, No longer quiet among the masses, I will not be silenced until the anger passes, My voice will be raised with wings and fly, As the crowds gaze into the passion of my eyes, And realize what I speak is not lies, But as my words peak I am shot from the skies, Like all those before whose message was seeked, As I woke from the dream, the words were lost, And I pondered the cost of riotousness, If in the end, our message is lost within the mist...