With apologies to Robert Zimmerman.
Why does the sun dry up so many scattered tears,
Slipping down the coarse cheek of a million hushed fears,
Where no one is scalded though the searing fog clears,
While prayers are mutely spoken even as the end nears.
We shatter and scrape on demented knees,
Blindly begging for mercy as it silently flees,
Searching listlessly for salvation drowned in the breeze,
That spits at the soft rose suffocated by a wheeze.
I know now what I need never have known,
Of hope that was trampled before it had flown,
Into a wasted sky filled with hate that could drown,
The giggling of the crowd and the crying of the clown.
A hope so fragile its wings were of brittle glass,
Ripping the veneer off the sewers of class,
Twisting the fabric of the weighed and costed mass,
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