Sedition

Raise your plow shares ye farmers
and give me faith that I will not
die here in this town of nothing
an nothing more alone and desperate
for cacophony. Alone and desperate
for the Clash, the Ramones, the
Sex Pistols and the raiment of the
heavenly Punk Angels. Take off your
mild mannered and unassuming ways
and trade them for tattoos and piercings;
give me hope that we will not sleep
for years in this skin, this cocoon
of restaurants and shopping malls where
no one feels anything except what
the reality shows tell them to.
I burn inside and I cry out to the wilderness
for a prophet, a martyr, someone who will
show them all that the heartbeat of the
world is fading
fading
fast.
The time has come for revolution; gather
your pitchforks, your quiet manners and
rise up from this safe prison to free
what is left of your human soul!