A Poem of Discontent

Disillusioned is the title we take
my generation fighting back against
the call and allure of profits
at the expense of identity and the land
our tears fall upon.

We will not hide, we will not
keep quiet, our voice will reach
each darkened corner, each soul
pushed aside, left within the cold
confines of shelter lacking heat.

We raise our fists in unison,
the call of those aware and not afraid
to voice disgust against this glorious land,
a land shattering as divides grow, weaken
solidarity upon which it rose from the ashes.

The wasteland grows each moment
when left unattended. The red, white and blue
replaced with the green, black and gold.
Our country, our land is slipping
from our grip, falling into other hands
with other purposes, other agendas.

We raise fists into the air. Our march
our voice crawling across the land, we will find
you, that which takes away our freedom,
our frontier, the terra we cherish,
the life we long for, the fairness,
the equality our classrooms taught us.

We are here, you cannot quiet us, we
will conquer. Many voices, many hearts,
many souls connected, the same vibration
growing louder, you cannot ignore the harmony
and peace, the unification, the one voice
standing up, conquering and exposing
the disease spreading into our water, the air,
the ice, our minds.

A mouth of one is too quiet, too mumbled
to reach those in high places,
beyond the clouds and air we breathe.

Discontent is the chant we take
with fists thrust high in the air
we march down your main street
in front of white picket fences, manicured lawns
and the mansion never slept in.

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