Protest

Clutched, I find our picket signs are
Painted hearts on wicked minds
Graffiti love–this sleepless town
A neon drug with wired sounds
The weak, the few, the scattered are
The warriors of tomorrow’s coup
Indifference: the enemy
The power: us. The weapon: you.
The cause is what we make of it
With future eyes’ unsilenced gaze
Across the codes we write of love
Across the viruses of hate
We pen a history to come
A melody as yet unsung
And cast our vote beneath the sheets
Of being free–of being we