A Proletarian Who Dares To Speak

stinging nettle
My language has no flowers
but still it empowers
me when I express
what I think about the mess
this world is in right now
and when I think how
we might go about
to lift the cloud
hanging above
without love
over the mind
of human kind

My language is so plain
more like a freight train
not flying high
but short and dry
a tree is a tree
that’s all I can see
though beauty might abound
here, there and around
but to no avail
for my words will fail
me to bring it to life
though hard I would strive

My language is pedestrian
for sure not equestrian
not from a horse high
and I wouldn’t even try
to be intellectual
but I want to be factual
I’d like to say
without delay
what I’ve seen and heard
every sentence every word
of what I perceive to be true
to everyone from me to you

My language has a simple tone
and most often it is prone
to tell you straight out
a cloud is a cloud
there is no subtlety behind
those words of any kind
the meaning is open and clear
about what I despise or fear
and what I hope for and love
and what my faith is above
A proletarian who dares to speak
this for sure makes me a freak


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