March tune

 
 
 
 
Substance obscured,
mucked in human manure,
squander of a common sewer.
No embrace, unengaged with.
Disgraced as a gutter myth.
Shut out. No say, no power.
Keep a tight lid, kid, on
who you were, what you did
no longer deemed allowed.
Never let them see you sweat.
It’s dangerous to show regret.
You’re not a target; you’re a threat.
Do you get what we’re all missing?
Ought we be questioning and listening?
Cross seed of credence to each other’s 
aims, needs, abilities.
Healing baneful rifts with respect,
gracious civilities.
Because the puzzle is only complete
when all the pieces are staged in sync.
Brain cells invited to think,
brawn to chop wood, carry water.
Grand march in the sunlight
to songs of far away stars.
.
.
.
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