A Small Victory in Place of an Epic DefeatFirst of all, revolutions are work.
A prospect which doesn't appeal to me.
They're tough on the house and they
Tear up the yard, which is why, I suppose,
Almost no one supports them, and that
Means that rebels are small in number,
Compared to the goons who work for
The state. If said goons don't flinch,
If their bosses don't flee, the rebels
Will die or be jailed, and their
Revolution won't succeed. The great
Gray mass of drones eating dinner,
Who fear for the loss of the little they
Have far more than they wish for
Anything better, will shrug. Nothing
Happened, that's alright with them,
And the revolution's praiseworthy
Intentions soon will wither and blow
Away, a prospect which doesn't
Appeal to me.
I'll just go, instead. Let the tyrants
And drones sustain their alliance,
And misery linger upon this land.
I'll be at a small table somewhere
By an ocean. I'll sip an espresso,
Another expatriate, pleased to have
Trimmed back the goals of rebellion
To breaking the bonds of one man.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2020-01-12 at 16:10
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