Thursday, January 28, 2010


Protest songs, ill-defined
implying cadences uttered by the swaying and swelling
of angry crowds shouted till cords are raw,
screaming a desire for
sudden change
at all costs.

Guitars were picked and harmonica blown
to massage messages into the minds
of those that turned a deaf ear
when the issues were forced.

Banjoes and tambourines,
mandolins and steel guitars,
silenced by a black listing
when lyrics delved too deeply-
Un-American to question another man's
misguided crusade;
to admit defeat.

Three voices of change
cast away into a void of thick air
pure, country music, questioned
for being against the murder of innocent
and the recall of loved ones-
to come home.

A single tear brought on by an echoing chord
a flash of resent from a nerve strummed
and the hardest men given away
as their feet began to tap

A suggestion is put forward
a nudge in the right direction, to
please look up, into the burning sky
at the hard rain looming

Truths only noticed by the ones looking;
wars that cannot be won,
marches that need to be ended.
We will bring them home,
we will further question our readiness to fight
another mans war.

We will stand with eyes closed,
listening in the pouring rain,
for answers-

blowing in the wind.

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