I exist in a deafening silence,
Refraining from reaction,
In a softly accepted retraction
From slimy social violence.
I let not my words erupt like
The scolding lava of a roaring
Volcano, spewing harm
Every which way.
I rather sit without noise,
Yet with impeccable poise,
Without my inner
Thoughts on display.
And despite my calm appearance,
My head roars with raging thoughts,
Ideas that should raise an alarm.
Still I sit, as complacent as ever,
And I can't help but feel I am a simple slave,
Like I am stuck on Maggie's farm.
And, truthfully, I am growing tired of sitting idle,
Patience, though virtuous, does not achieve a title,
My signs are more than vital but
They're being unfulfilled,
Frustration and indignation are driving
A reaction I have willed.
Dangerous is a man with an idea.
And he is lethal with raw determination.
When anger is added to mix,
'Massacre' is only your interpretation.
I have an idea. I am motivated.
These silent lips have parted, and
They have dedicated the duty of
Relation to a trusty, loyal pen.
All that's left to do, is act.
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