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...
Copyright © Ian Sylvester | Year Posted 2007
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