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The Quiet Will Win | Protest Poetry





In the end, the Quiet wins.

I hold to that.

I hold fiercely to that.


The Quiet wins.


All our ignorant machinations,

our pathetic divinations,

our ridiculous conversations

and explanations and rationalizations ...

they are going away, one way or another.


The Quiet wins.


In fifty years, no more,

if there are still nations and borders,

if there are still climate deniers and nationalists,

if there are still polluters and hedge fund managers,

if there are still corporations and megachurches,

if there are still McMansions and suburban sprawl,

I can assure you this:

There won’t be in a century.


The Quiet wins.


In fifty years I’ll be 109.

It’s doubtful I’ll be alive.

I’m okay with that.

I have seen the vast span of the human species,

what far too many of you are,

what you do with your precious lives,

how you treat this world and each other,

how you pinball through your days,

thoughtlessly, mindlessly, soullessly.

You consume and you consume and you consume.

That is the balance of your lives.


I don’t need to see anymore.

I’ve seen enough.


Your time is running out.

Your thoughtlessness is running out.

Your spiritlessness is running out.

Your cruelty and ignorance and shortsightedness

are running the fuck out.


The Quiet is coming.


The Quiet will win.


That much I know.




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Fractal Art: Where Rainbows Go to Die

From: Fractalverse: Volume Six

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