Uprising (Poetry)

The bubble, the gurgle, the surge and the swell
of feelings too violent and angry to tell...
the seethe and the sizzle, the ache that won’t go
and always the knowledge too awful to know
that feeds on resentment too ugly to show.

Fear’s the volcano that rumbles in sleep
hate is the secret most struggle to keep
caught like a thorn working deeper inside
cold rage at a world that has cheated and lied —
cares not how men live — even less how they died.

Truth is the weapon to reach for and name
but words are deceptive — disguising the blame
the more revelations confuse — blowing smoke
to baffle, bewilder, wrong-foot and provoke
while the media’s headlines slow-poison and choke.

The wound quietly festers with loathing — despair
is a foul sickly gangrene which thickens the air
the stench of deception a symptom of ills
that cannot be cured by those pretty pink pills
prescribed to subdue any mad clash of wills.

The mutter is growing — unrest is the theme
the ‘facts’ are elusive — the ‘news’ is obscene
the censor is working all day and all night
to doctor our freedoms — tell only what’s ‘right’
and keep awkward questions from coming to light.

But the whisper is plain — there’s an ear to the wall
and common sense answers its come-awake call
to take back the power — resist and ignore
their forms and that vote-seeking knock on the door
reject all those falsehoods they sold us before.

The time is upon us — the hour is now
the storm’s slow in rising — the trees bend and sough —
some branches will break and the rain bring a flood
the lightning crack and the moon sink in mud
while change is the fever that sings in the blood...

The future waits hopeful —
                                the prophecy’s good.