The Leaflet Dropper, 2016

I passed a relic on the street
And the poor boy spoke to me
Of circa 1917

And when I looked into his eyes
I’m afraid to say I was not surprised
To see small golden hammer and sickle signs

When I said ‘Corbyn’ he shook his head
And I knew then; revolution is dead
And when the poor lad went to bed

That evening he spoke the catechism
“Workers of the world you will be risen”
And rested sure in a welcome prison.

And though we may be on a team,
The world will not be won by dreaming
Or rather walking while you’re sleeping.

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Published by

commucrat

Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

2 thoughts on “The Leaflet Dropper, 2016”

  1. This was so mindblowingly strong and subtle. The choice of words is like a clean-cut surgery. The underlying commentary is raw and wise at the same time. Thank you for all the images you shot into my head. I totally needed a kick like this. Wow.

    Please stay inspired, and keep inspiring.

    Like

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