Just Another Protest Poem

Sometimes I wonder who the hell I am.
Is this me? Or is this a person shaped,
Prodded, manipulated, and carved by
Every day bellicose symptoms of our
Chosen political system. Where slavery
To corporations is misconstrued as benign
And the irony of educational institutions as
Marxist in ideals, yet they congeal their
Pockets with coffee shop dimes and
Prostitutes dirty money, and sentence those
Without to twenty years hard labour.
Sometimes I wonder who the hell I am.
Is this me?

One thought on “Just Another Protest Poem

  1. Attack is all around us
    In this sink of chaos,
    Droves of vehement drones,
    Waspish, as their warmaster demands
    A fallow prisoner,
    Emaciated, pronounced alive enough
    For torture,
    Yielded from semblances
    And long-distant ideas and dreams
    Of freedom, hurled filthily in seas
    Of tumultuous red,
    Brooding, foaming, sullen
    Sunken lives, sailors drowned
    In wine’s sophisticated bludgeon,
    The Blood of Christ!?…
    Numbed, succumbed to fleeting
    Merriment, tub thumping piracy
    Of forlorn and dirty souls,
    Before the hailstorms of
    Decline and regret,
    Stinging out the flimsy lustre.
    “There is only my ocean” Neptune roared,
    Mythical and raw,
    Pushing then under again
    To watery graves
    Where longing dies swiftly
    In a few wide-eyed gasps
    Of the lucky few cut short
    From all this gaiety.

    Liked by 1 person

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