Flood of Oppression

The name they gave me stood me out.
The rage I felt stood me up:

The wild manners of survival; not thinking ahead

The bed below sea level proved to be a cradle
Of destruction waiting for the flood of oppression to send a message:

The day of our choral irony is no longer valid.

To merely point it out in tongue tsk-ing condescension is grounds for the Karma Police.

The tyranny.
The tears.

My outrage may make you insane. The flag of suffering is worn in my mane.

Reduced to bumper stickers and pointed consumerism- where is the voice of true wisdom hiding?

He had it. I miss him.