I could blow to smithereens
the wealth of the rich
could play a rob-in-hood
**** and steal
to give the poor a fair deal
could hang all the glib talkers
from the highest post
feet up head down
publicly displayed in the town
break the iron walls
bulldoze the palaces
pull them down from the throne
where I sent them
put an end to their dastardly game

but this mind’s wrath
this hand’s gun
can’t pop even one bullet
can only ink
a dawn pink emotion

of Revolution.