Revolution

[33-33]

Incensed cries are muffled
under forests of fanatical
crimson flags
that march towards the city square,
rippling with intent.

Banners are crude
in attacking today
but naive
when dreaming of
what could be:

‘Poetry is in the streets’
they cry,
‘Tis forbidden to forbid!'

...

Uncompromising granite
towers high above
protruding into nothingness,
sheathed in angry cloud

as

imperious rulers sit inside,
poker-faced.
At one with their surroundings,
pondering
Inevitability?

...

Well-placed muskets
spew forth shrapnel
as white-hot death
enters bodies
that fall to the ground,
their fists still clenched in defiance.

Out leaks bright-red legacies,
out of punctured exit wounds
forever staining memories.

The blood is striking
against the snow.

...

Unstaring eyes now gaze
at lofty palace gates

'there is no longer a tsar for us'
the wearied survivors claim,

Bodies now grow colder
as
destitution reigns.

...

A forgotten placard sits,
buried half in mud.

Red letters still visible
it reassures

that two and two
no longer
make four.

 

[(Wordy)]

This is vivid, scenic... and the historical resonance still rings true today.

‘Poetry is in the streets’
they cry,
‘Tis forbidden to forbid!'

Nowhere has poetry been seen as such a genuine political threat than in Russia.

 

[colicolo]

i really really liked this. sadly it seems to enlighten the uselessness of protesting.

 

[psillocybin]

I love the imagery in this

 

[Amanita Mary]

i really really liked this. sadly it seems to enlighten the uselessness of protesting.

couldn't of said it any shorter or sweeter. completely agree^... this piece reminded me of marching toward the capitol,with hundreds of outspoken people, and thousands more whose 'poker faces' detestingly shrugged and closed their office-building blinds and religiously blinded minds... it felt right, but pointless.