The Honored Quest ~ mcvicker ~ 2015
Oh, wretched media pallet paints,
of those who are and those who ain't.
High pitched, lying, speakers scream
to the very soul, to squash a dream.
A lofty moral of those who think they love,
silent names, a Hawk, a Dove.
Bombed out shells of city states,
sleeping bodies on subway grates.
The suited faces turn their own way.
Opened mouths that spew and blame,
bring to ruin and mistrust among those who remain.
The defenders of a forgotten cause.
Bring all your unfortunate and troubled here,
the Lady awaits you at her shore.
Escape from tyranny of gilded age.
At last we too, may forget our rage
against the few who beat the weary masses.
We, who could never, would never, change our caste is.
Set in stone, hard and fast.
But, where is the land that was stolen first?
No people could have ever quench this thirst
Events as old as the Creation remain.
Lessons never learned, stay the same.
Haunting the dwellings of those with fear.
Nothing, under the Sun has changed.
But wait and notice take!
A rumble in the once silent breast
of the Lion of Truth, who stirs to wake.
To rise, to conquer, the ones who would for selfish stake,
attempt to soil the honored quest.