I have to shout to you over the noise of the television
In the form of a million other eyes
Standing, waiting, weeping
Watching our country slowly drip with wet paint
Stained in the color of loss
Peace, by piece, by piece

Smothered by your haughtiness and weak foresight
I have abandoned hope to the intangible concept of your knife
slitting the throats of a future generation
cutting out their docile voices
so only yours can be heard