Beholden Poem by Timmy Curran

Reasons don't need to be dealt
The things to be said,
have already been ushered through the waves
The cares of a few lend a loud voice
to the world and the voiceless stay silent,
until the violence

There's a high hill sinking into marshlands
Where old men sit in comfortable chairs
Trying to be heard from deep within expensive pockets
But their language doesn't jive on the street
and the voiceless stay silent,
until the violence