The Protest

Straddling lines to make a point Hand held billboards wingless The same the Messiah un-annoint The concern is remedy-less Only when I am awake its there The un-shaming shame Speaking for the deaf to hear And spotlight in its blame The old greased machine turned Filled the potholes with pebbles And I returned and yearned To be rid of the system and foibles What shoveling of the voice to sing What cluttering of the day To participate in parliament with the king Somewhere the smoke goes not away