Coming Age | Poem

PART 5: COMING AGE

Decrepit thing that it's become,
like monarchies of old,
its glory days now history,
its embers growing cold.
Infected by its leadership
it dreams of better days,
but strains beneath hypocrisies
of those who give it praise.
Corrupted in their present form,
but pure in years before.
They'd learn the curse of politics
and make themselves its whore.
Like prostitutes in corporate beds
or on their callused knees,
they legislate the buyers wants
in hopes that they will please.
Complacent in their daily lives,
like peasantry before,
accustomed to the status quo,
but now they ask for more.
Across the land their anger grows.
Indignant questions asked.
Seditious thoughts are born again.
Complacency has passed.
Repeating thing that history is,
someday we'll hear its call,
and like those crumbled monarchies,
democracy will fall.
The dusty air will smell of change
as history clears the stage.
As millions turn with hopes renewed
to greet the coming age.