Yearning hard to promenade published highways?

Tap the power latent in hieroglyphics

drawn through ages? Poetry paints pictures,

stimulates people...

Vainly crash your thunderstorms onto paper,

social cynic! Shamelessly cramming morals

down the throats of innocents, people simply

following orders.

Change your target. Elevate ink-filled bullets

aiming at the Government. History’s pages

only turned when cynical writers spoke and

commoners listened.

Sharpened pens of pioneers shunned convention,

sick of rhyming meaningless odes of joy and

shadow boxers dripping with love and Cupid’s

groveling sonnets.

Find the inner vitriol. Undercurrents

lie in wait for starting gun’s bark to sprint from

ink well’s dark blocks, melting the iceberg into

radical oceans.