Leap for the throat, try and kill it.
You will perish.
Be it foreign embassy or a foreign land.
It is cantankerous and a wit to ethic norms
Well accustomed to practising on meek hearted.
It is convenient, and a well groomed allure
But the heresy of the temptress.
It’s ease will never feel like any good content.
Greg Jones knows, the fruit grocer, in Newtown.
He thinks not to be an activist,
Whispering so the mechanical lobes skip:
“Jump away from the 1%, and stay hiddenly silent,
that will confirm their place –
Young Guerrillas must be with economical sights, and
dabble in the legislative weaponry of modern ways,”
He broadcasts in the morse of his lifestyle.
This dreamer marxist, knows no more than youth,
Not of confronting those with shadows that cast night.
Yet matured, and wiser; his fulfilment is not denied –
His fruit empire has him content enough, his actions sing
Living in sound of quiet ideology.