How strange
That odd word is--
Change.

It rings harsh in the ears of the oppressed.
They desire it so,
Crave it.

But they are wary.
Too often have they been lied to,
Nothing new,
Not a change.
Weary.

When desired,
It responds slowly--
A dumb dragon,
Mute and deaf to your demands.

Like a glacier it moves,
Slowly.
Slowly.

It begs patience.
"Stab wounds can't be healed with a band-aid,"
It says.

It takes time,
And incremental steps.
100 pennies stitched together a dollar do make.

But if we don't want change
Well then it comes rushing raging forth.
Bursting through the dam of our status quo'd walls.

Like a dragon it flies
Furious and fire-breathing
Foul-odored stench and a repugnant force of being.

Angrily we cry and wave our arms,
Flailing about
In the face of this fantastic fiend.

To no avail.

Change will slow for no man.

And all the while,
A poor, crippled beggar walks the street--

"Can you spare some change?"

How strange.