Searching for My Protest Voice

I ran to a protest march, but now know not why.

Photo by ev on Unsplash

Everywhere I turn there are eyes glaring, insatiable barked demands,

To cower, to run, bury myself, my self-protecting ego demands.

Must I do that, turn from the mob and scurry away to protect my own ends,

Or must I stand shoulder to shoulder with half-conceived rhetoric, but in support of friends?

When I glance around, I see faces full of passion yelling for rights and cause,

Yet I feel no such volition to protest, am I the one with treasonous flaws?

I stumble from the mayhem, the pepper spray, the kicks and brawls.

I watch in detached bemusement as my true purpose is hijacked and falls.

I wanted to stand for equality without censure; of color, gender, race, or religion as one belief.

With batons, shields, and water canon my ideals were brutalized, leaving me swirling with grief.

Yet a glimmer sparks inside me and begs me to stand up, be defiant, and yell to be heard.

Intention courses through me to reject not only oppression, but the riot criminality of the absurd.

Wounded by the mob’s derision and denial of the abuses raging through society’s mind,

I stare, emotionally exhausted, and fear my ideals lay smothered behind.

Thanks for reading. You can always find my thoughts and books on my site. www.kfarranauthor.com