Shielded police stand between us and them.
The riot force infringes upon our air, as stones
Attack their shiny skulls, but they condemn
Our words of Western ideas, unknown
To people dressed in black. The wall of grey
Plastic warns of a tyrant, who with pen
On yellow paper, aborts protests to fray
Our freedom’s fabric showed on CNN.
Among the struggle, man creates an art,
Keys, bridges, sound. Before these men of war,
Our music softly he plays; all our hearts
Be still! His song moves lips to say, “No more!”
Burned from words, Governments will fall to ash,
But music will survive the mad bloodbath.
A Painted Piano Next to
Bloodied Rubble
Nick Kowalski ’16