The Next Dance
The afterglow of the polls
Has refused to leave the sky
The euphoria like never before
Still tingles my countrymen.
Some are elated
At the dire switch
From ‘business as usual’
Others draw gore
With their senseless machete
That victory does not befit the chosen.
And they hide within fanaticism.
But the blood of the ten
And others are crying.
Come next dance,
The voice behind the heads
Of the vagabonds would
Come out like a masquerade
To dance again.
And voter will queue up
Like zombies in blood-stained
Corps Members costumes to
Teach them one more lesson.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
