Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
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.
0
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Revolution: an impotent rage
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.
pradip-chattopadhyay
Written by
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem