Inside, I see
marched feet, clinched fists, muscly sinews flexed to raise a cardboard sign
Are these tears real or canned?
Are these fears legit or deluded?
Are these swears loud or tamed?
Are these bears simply asleep or hibernating
So many voices imprisoned in skull that will never reach the ears of another.
I can’t count the expletives that will never pass over vocal cords.
Rage detoured to a dead-ended synapse road. To a suburban cul-de-sac where happiness moved in, lounge in front of a glowing box, mounted to a wall, blinking the signals from the same frequency for untold trips around the sun.
