Mike Ashkewe

The streets are quiet but I hear them screaming from my window at night.
Sabers rattle in the echelons of power
Prisoners of banks and power suits telling us to conquer and consume
I pitifully yell at electronic screens across fiber optic hubs and disjointed wifi
The war of change is at the doorstep and it does not politely knock
Forceful angry shouts shake the glass and threaten the window of safety
An ant against the juggernaut of feigned progress but still standing defiant
We are not part of the gluttony molds that pour you into numbers in a coffin in a forgotten basement of a glass monolith.
I am screaming from the street for all to hear and I will not be quieted
We will not be censored
We will reclaim what has been lost to a system built to enslave and shackle to early graves
Once again the streets with sing and not cry
We will throw off plastic uniforms and burn it all down and join hands in joy
The powerful should be fearful
Hide in your boardrooms and tax havens
You are not safe.
Know that rhythmic beat is not the sound of money being counted
It is a countdown of a thousand disenfranchised souls marching forward
We were treated as disposable prey on the platters made of our shattered dreams
Tonight you are hunted by the fury of those wage slaves
Our souls are not commodities to bought and sold
Our flesh was never for sale
Let the Earth shake from our approach and watch your world in flames
Tonight we force you to answer for tears given in the name of profit