I had forgotten how much I’d forgotten
About not knowing a thing at all.
And when you tend to not know a thing,
Then the world seems to sing and call.

To sing of the happiness and grandeur
That is this blissful world,
To hark on the jovial gay jollity
So seamless as a white pearl.

And when it is all said, over, and done,
And the chair’s let out for it’s already sung,

The world still holds its shining light,
For all who tend to not be so bright.

For after all, it’s not too bright,
And now at least you know my plight.

Oppression is a constant class
Akin to time and matter’s mass.

The wars may all be over,
But The War is never over.

Those who reign above all throw
Leavings to those far below

And the only alteration is a place, a time,
A different pace for a different clime.

Those trodden-on underdogs
Lift their heads ‘spite egregious wrongs

And gather in numbers to throw now off
Those shackles and to the oppressors doff.

Just as justice rings her bell,
And injustice gross has fell,

Like a symphony beautifully ringing
As all freedom’s flowers are springing,

The cycle begins anew like clocks,
Working around, so devoid of baulks.

Many muse over the mark of maturity,
A sign that one’s grown up good,
Some say it’s a symbol of utter conformity,
That society has been ingrained as it should.

And though this all may ring verily true,
With more candid acts and honest reactions,
And a taller height with ‘stache may ensue,
Maturity is using less violence, less action.

It is growing enough to know when to stop,
When to calm your head and think,
To use your words to effect change and drop
The malady in you heart – let it shrink