The Iconoclast Poem by Christopher Holman

A caustic presence overshadows this room
a stench so foul it chokes the dead
throttling him in the dark
he shouts in vain, beating the walls for life
his lungs burn with a fury to shatter conformity
his death tolls at last, as an echo of truth rings forth.

A revolution is never easy
but as generations roll over, his yearning is shunned
that yearning is to show the quills of society,
the WTO murdering small nations,
the NSA sacrificing youth to create the illusion of security,
the bureacracy squeezing every cent from the submissive.

The obscene supressed
the absurd limited
the surreal destroyed
the truth erradicated.
How much freedom will we sacrifice to be 'safe? '
How many times will we allow a generation to be desensitized?

Taking the stand, he serves as a gateway
no persuasion, enlightenment is his weapon
the clash of steel silenced by commercialism
battles fought through the media he so valiantly opposes
in the end it is up to the public he fights to free
though what makes intelligence so much better than ignorance?