Public, But Not Heard
The mob gathered beneath pale LED skies,
Chasing the blood scent of justice in data feeds,
Voices broken into bytes and rearranged,
Each face illuminated by the false dawn of retweets,
Mouths open, flooding the night with outrage coded and clean,
A thousand grievances channeled through glass,
Unraveled by the morning’s algorithmic wash,
Unity staged in the optics of anger,
But the message diluted by distance and divided by design,
Fury sold in increments, spent before it can combust,
Every hand raised for the record,
not for resolve—Each scream measured by trending graphs,
Yet in the real dark, only the silence lasts.
The procession wound through asphalt veins,
Feet thundering for a cause nobody would name,
Kneeling for a lens, marching for applause,
While dissent was captured, edited, then paused.No leader, no lantern,
no memory to hold—Only slogans, duplicated,
grown cold.Conviction lasts until the next swipe—Tomorrow,
each passion erases tonight.Nothing ancient here, no ritual flame,
Only the shadow of hope played as a numbers game.Rage like a fever—brief
and contagious—Burns white, dies out,
leaves no ashes.Truth shouted is truth unmoored,
In a theater where crowds are ignored.
Each cry for mercy, each desperate plea,
Splintered by distance, lost in the feed.Justice recycles, diluted by speed,
Truth becomes signal, then static, then need.Those who once cared,
care with a lag,
Their love is performative, their impact a tag.For every wound torn open online,
No hand reaches out, no justice aligns.The crowd thins as the memory
fades—Tears rendered digital, hope retrograde.The fire that burned so briefly,
Now just numbers—hollow, empty.
Volume rises, but meaning slips through,
A howl in the void, unheard and untrue.The crowd burns bright,
but cannot endure—They tear down the walls,
but build nothing secure.They open the wound, but never sew shut,
Ask for more pain, but never the cut.All that remains in the fall of the storm,
Is the echo of noise, and memory worn.
Public, but not heard—like ghosts in the mist,
Truth now internal, lost in the twist.A match struck for the world,
blown out in a breath,
A voice meant for all, but now burnt to death.Every message scattered,
each name now thin,
Outrage abandoned to rot within.The voice was a weapon. The
weapon was spent.Now only the grave silence knows what was meant.