The Shout Below

 In the trans-admission of the guilty one

The aggrieved, walking away, are tearful

Though stern on the matter of justice.

Down in the whirlpool that are questions

It is by consanguine thought lines that answers 

Are sucked in there, made unrecoverable,

Thus far, in the mystery of knowledge,

When myths and fairy tales are stalled,

Blocked by large deposits of rationales,

Scooped from repeat lava and founded

In institutions, in orthodoxy,

The strike of dissatisfaction that is left

Oblique and wounded, bathed in patience,

In the practical acceptance of

Powerlessness, encouraged by authority,

Whereas the finish is never a love song.

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