by Nick Gisburne
Corruption moulds a mindless, milling crowd,
Until no spark survives in any face,
Identical disciples, each one cowed
By warnings, threats, rejection, and disgrace.
But from the fringe, a faction at the edge,
A voice, an aberration, breaks the spell,
A counterpoint so sharp it drives a wedge
Between the lies the shameless stage and sell.
It whispers, to the weakest, to the small.
From dreams, no longer twisted, all awake.
Like dominoes, delusions fail and fall.
Control collapses, effortless to break.
The truth is all it takes to turn the herd,
A voice, a cry, a clear, dissenting word.
