To Protest a Generation
What is it, to protest a generation?
By what feats are miracles accomplished?
I see not the sunny-side of that promised land
Nor the penance of a people purloined
Institutions inspiring the inane
Creeds conspiring conflict
All testament to the tacit tyranny
Always shall there be retribution for the unrighteous?
And what of that one voice crying out in the crowd:
“What you do is wrong, this is not right!
“Sweet Justice, I beg of you, shine your light upon them!”
Still they shout, “be silent!” rejecting, and renouncing
Gnawing the leaven of a more spoiled yeast:
A Mother who would slaughter the fruit of her womb
Not once, not twice, but thrice, and more
Her body no longer temple for love, and goodness
But shrine to the unborn, the unmourned
A most twisted pleasure around Hell’s pyre
Where Moloch growls, aching in his hunger
A father who would forgo his sons and daughters
Weeping not for the seed of his heart left to wilt
Beneath heat of a sky leaking no rain
Dreamt a drought for the weary
Whose tales of whimsy wane
People perplexed by politics, pettiest affairs
Too busy to notice their future slipping away
A posterity drowned in neglect’s mire
Their cries muffled by a Causus Belli
Twenty-one guns for ninety-nine theses
Children caught up staring down
Idolizing the arrogant, in apathy
Drenched in likes, subscriptions to sin
Their kinship foretold insanity
And when a man unbecoming approaches them to declare:
“This is wrong, your ways are wrong! Justice, I say!”
They will argue politics and privilege,
Subjectivity and relativity, the freedom of the unhinged
But I ask, is any one truly free when bound by flesh
Left to rot at the end of an eighty-year’s decay?
And they will beat him, and deride him
Casting him from their doorsteps, laughing
Yet when they with the eyes of an angel comes to greet them
Preaching the only gospel their hearts have ever known
They will cheer and smile, cry out and weep with joy
“Our savior has come!”, the many will scream in rapture
Like young girls giddy over a handsome boy
And how then shall they be taken up by streamers!
Bright lights and music, dance and revelry
From a pen whose door had been left open
Stammering out into their hearts’ wilderness
Beckoned by the angel-eyed, the heaven-tongued
And once rampaged and ravaged to all their delight
Each mask will come off, every light will dim
Left naked in the dark
