Change
Change is the way the we all can relate,
We change fate, change hate, change the things that degrate,
And at a range, change seems like it only does great,
But isn't it strange, change can lead to such a great debate,
When it was only meant to open up gates,
For the men and women who want equal rights and rate,
For the broken soldiers, held by their brothers,
Only waiting to be seen, in the end,
By their mothers in crates...
As she throws herself upon it with no restraint,
There can be no mistake,
Even though it seems so fake,
She waits in the aftermath of this wake,
For the world to find the right path,
Have no hate,
But all around she sees wrath,
Losses faith,
And decides to forge her own path,
Through the gate,
To the powers that be,
The power select,
The power of the people that we elect,
The power they neglect,
So she argues certain elements,
With rhetoric and relevance,
And scholarly intelligence,
But all they ever tell her is...
"We'll get back to this,"
When they really mean is...
"Stop reminiscing on past events,"
She decided that she can't really live without her kid,
And takes a little stroll off the Brooklyn Bridge,
Do you know what she asked when she had the floor?
Just for a little bit of change like I said before....
Copyright © Ian Sylvester | Year Posted 2011
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