#30

One More Loud Whistle Blows!
By XII

I came from the midland
To worship where my parents breathed
But they built up towers
Poured the molds with sanctity
I knocked on ivory doors
To build up such young ambition
The wind of change like a fever in my body
Join the people waiting for a needy demolition
The round council table is wooden
With firm patterns across it's surface
I stood finally, reciting from a paper
Swallowed my tongues wondering if it was worth it
They told me to swim great lengths
To reach the spot they had all seen
But I couldn't grab it from the shore
I stayed to hum around the local scene
The firm, fresh bodies of young people
Do not deserve to be all up in chains
I am not afraid of your commanding chariots
On fire, I am waiting for god to make it rain
The movements that all of you can't speak of
Bring joy to the hearts of searching people
I've opened up a great many rule books
But have never been told to climb to the steeple
This whole thing seems like a broken treadmill
Buttons never seem to make it work
As I slam my fists on unyielding plastics
Employees want to paint me as a jerk
As if I came in with a gaudy rifle
To a sensible, level headed gun show
Like I wanna show off how to defy them
Instead of wanting to let normal life flow
Should we really be treated like a prison
Walls that cannot close to hold me in
Am I supposed to shove this in my body
Take it all in with a sick grin
Nobody tells me when to go to heaven
I have been staying up all night
Sweating new rules that I see sometimes
Knowing that no one wants a fight
We all want to stay so plaid-Amish
Pushing oxen over daisies in the field
The night people are the wrong powers
Stop signs will never change to say yield
So I throw up my mad mans hands
Growl into the danger of the night time
Wonder who on Earth thought this up
I wait for something clearer in my sight line