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
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