The dying revolution

On a torn square

Stands no soul

Screaming timid complaints

To the metallic ears

Of democratic dictators

Driving the sanity out of their ships

On a torn square

Hidden by fuming buildings

Thousands scream in silence

For the sake of their unsought abstinence

Fists crush the delicate wind

And faces caress the windy soil

Crushed by the weight of faded idealists

On a torn square

Stand the last humans

Holding a gun…

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5 comments

    • Alex Micati

      I have to admit that I am a huge fan of folk music and I thought I’d try to create a folksy poem. This is the one. Thanks for reading! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Alex Micati

    Thank you! I must admit I had issues with the way this poem came out. Thanks for proving that I made the right choice. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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