Revolution Is Thy Name

Familiar roar is
replaced by dull hum,
Rattling over the

long grey,
Pierced by myriad
voices from afar,

Languages of
distant corners and
forgotten colony,

Spreading and
conquering tired streets,
Abandoned to

manage their decline,
Later claimed with
antiseptic vigour,

Cleaning the counter
of culture and
implanting one new,

In mad frenzy where
I sat in dropped rain
and waited

for beauty topped in red.

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