Futile

The pulsing crowd of protestors
spit their messages at the feet
of power, demanding to count,
thinking they are heard.

A thousand thunderous voices,
lost in a soup of chaos
and indifference,
served with charm
in a red dish,

by window dressing politicians
and special interest frontmen
who pretend to care about
the petty petitions and causes,

when, in the end, their only
concern is votes, money
and perpetuating their own
power.

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11 Comments

Filed under Poetry

11 responses to “Futile

  1. I love this, Mark.

    The truth deserves to be heard. I’m retweeting this.

  2. nan

    This poem packs a powerful and sad message. It reminded me of one I wrote a while back called the protest. http://jadepagepress.blogspot.com/2011/04/protest.html

    (I hear you, Mark)

  3. I want to say: come on, cheer up, it’s not that bad. That makes me realize just how well you’ve written the poem.

  4. YUP! Strong write…works for both sides. Well done, Mark.

  5. brilliantly put together. Oh if we could only change them too.

  6. Wow. You used the words as a very powerful message. Great job!

  7. Wonderful wordling, Mark, and so true!

  8. Another bit of Wondrous Windham Words. Impressive, Mark!

  9. Mark, very true. Well done with the use of soup.

    Pamela

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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