They drag you
by your sorrow.

Your head
breaks the surface,
you gasp
as the black pool clings.

Will you meet
the hammer
or the scythe?

Did you think
one could be
and never judged?

Oppressed yet dream.

A little help
when we were teens?

How 'bout popcorn
'tween the scenes?

Leaves scattered about.
The brown seek rain.
Green, the sun.

Fought the dogma,
stigmata, propaganda,
and all those...
with means.

Still,
I thought it
would matter-
somehow, someway,
someday.

Kinda sad, eh?

Alas,
'tis but a strut
upon the stage.