Fear

When the little man finds a soapbox from which to spruik his wares
he’ll bellow forth most loudly -as if somebody cares.
He’ll pontificate on everything; injustices he’s seen
blaming and pointing fingers – are things on which he’s keen.
His moans will echo loudly – which ever side he’s on;
those moanful screams you soon will find your ears he’s set upon.
The wicked ways of this world – the politics and all;
the fact that it is your fault the government will fall.
Diseases he will warn you run rampant in the town;
and because you will not listen society falls down.
If you would simply toe the line – the letter of the law
the fearful beast would go away and he would fear no more.
But up upon his soapbox one thing is very clear,
there’s always something close to him and that you know is fear.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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