![Picture](/uploads/5/3/1/4/53145165/published/0824211339b.jpg?1629830590)
You say you want a revolution:
your little revolution has become a tired pop song
sung by fascists and shouted by racist jerks.
You say you want your rights--
twisting the language of justice
for your own self-absorbed pleasure,
frustrated grasping after prosperity.
You’ve been conned, friends,
fooled into serving a gilded god’s grotesque gain
at the expense of the poor, the forgotten, the disinherited.
Stop your tired rant!
Listen to the songs of love
that mothers who have too little
are feeding to their children.
Listen to the poetry the children are composing--
the very youths you fear.
Stop your toxic repetitions!
In silence let your feet find their way
to the path of justice and compassion.
Let your minds turn
to something other than self-serving indignation.
Take hold of the truth, the harder if it burns you.
You say you want a revolution.
Shut up then and turn around.
Turn once, turn twice, turn thrice,
to the rising of the sun.
Out of the charred dead stump of your bitterness,
there’s a new shoot growing.
your little revolution has become a tired pop song
sung by fascists and shouted by racist jerks.
You say you want your rights--
twisting the language of justice
for your own self-absorbed pleasure,
frustrated grasping after prosperity.
You’ve been conned, friends,
fooled into serving a gilded god’s grotesque gain
at the expense of the poor, the forgotten, the disinherited.
Stop your tired rant!
Listen to the songs of love
that mothers who have too little
are feeding to their children.
Listen to the poetry the children are composing--
the very youths you fear.
Stop your toxic repetitions!
In silence let your feet find their way
to the path of justice and compassion.
Let your minds turn
to something other than self-serving indignation.
Take hold of the truth, the harder if it burns you.
You say you want a revolution.
Shut up then and turn around.
Turn once, turn twice, turn thrice,
to the rising of the sun.
Out of the charred dead stump of your bitterness,
there’s a new shoot growing.