The Arab Spring

Tyrants hide their swollen faces
A wilted rose tells of better places
Sidestep wars and tattered dreams
The silence screams
and the light still beams
From lamp posts alone on broken streets
Lay occupied by the next elite
the silent screams of horrid scenes
The unheard voice of countless things
never to be and Forever unseen
And hidden beneath the widespread screen
of Oscar hopefuls still in need
Of a lungs release
A tentative peace
Of former enemies turned friends in fleet
but never seen
because admiring things
is far too much to expect from me.


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