Hodlpoet on Nostr: Protest A jumble of mismatched words stretched across a bony face. Too tight and ...
Protest
A jumble of mismatched words stretched across a bony face.
Too tight and brittle,
Cracking to release the inner light
And inner flood...
Of heat and breath and gasp.
To grin again....
And grit against the grind
Of teeth and jaw and face and heart.
In rough revolt against the paltry sinners who would have us cowed and masked and meek and sorrowful.
Mourning, in unrecognized anguish,
The dear freedom and precious chance
That was so cheaply sold.
Given over to the mean and fearful gods of little and less...
Instead of all or nothing.
While in the reflections of our tear filled eyes,
The conflagration roars
And mankind's promise crisps to ash.
And what can we stack against
Such weighty sorrow?
Nothing more than the fleeting choices,
Freely made.
By one.
Then one more.
Then a flood...
Of men and women standing strong.
Or striding forth in equal and appropriate measure.
Nothing more than a growing army
Of wilful fools and willing jokers.
Who would laugh and dance and wrest the kernel from the fire.
Choosing meme and martyrdom over staid and rapacious normality.
Nothing more than a slowly waking hive mind swarm
Of realization and righteous anger.
Nothing more than a grass roots
Ground swell
Root fed
Upwelling of deep and dedicated believers.
The Hodl army.
Massed and massive....
To gainsay the soulless corrupting rot of decay gripping the world.
A jumble of mismatched words stretched across a bony face.
Too tight and brittle,
Cracking to release the inner light
And inner flood...
Of heat and breath and gasp.
To grin again....
And grit against the grind
Of teeth and jaw and face and heart.
In rough revolt against the paltry sinners who would have us cowed and masked and meek and sorrowful.
Mourning, in unrecognized anguish,
The dear freedom and precious chance
That was so cheaply sold.
Given over to the mean and fearful gods of little and less...
Instead of all or nothing.
While in the reflections of our tear filled eyes,
The conflagration roars
And mankind's promise crisps to ash.
And what can we stack against
Such weighty sorrow?
Nothing more than the fleeting choices,
Freely made.
By one.
Then one more.
Then a flood...
Of men and women standing strong.
Or striding forth in equal and appropriate measure.
Nothing more than a growing army
Of wilful fools and willing jokers.
Who would laugh and dance and wrest the kernel from the fire.
Choosing meme and martyrdom over staid and rapacious normality.
Nothing more than a slowly waking hive mind swarm
Of realization and righteous anger.
Nothing more than a grass roots
Ground swell
Root fed
Upwelling of deep and dedicated believers.
The Hodl army.
Massed and massive....
To gainsay the soulless corrupting rot of decay gripping the world.