Games they play

First time I saw Noah protest,
I thought he had gone insane.
“Who protest help?”
I said in my head;
Noah and a bunch of fools,
Idealistic and full of dreams;
Everyday for eight days,
They kept the pace;
Trying to get the government to release their pay.

Last time I saw Noah,
I was in the streets;
Marveling at his loud voice,
Wondering why he wouldn’t sway.
A shot in the air,
Creeping cold through my veins,
As I watched Noah fall.

He stands through the pain,
Staggering and wincing;
Blood spilling through his clothes;
He screams in the loudest haunting way,
“I will not be silenced today”.
Another shot straight through his head,
Everywhere in disarray;
I stand pinned,
Tears in my face;
As I understand why Noah had fought so hard;

Revolution will never happen without pay,
Until we are ready to risk it all;
Nothing will change,
We would always be second base,
Satisfied with chicken change and rebates.
I looked at my Noah’s body,
He dies today;
An ink in an everlasting shade of darkness.

I stare at the gun in my hand;
He was a special one,
Pity he had bruised the wrong ego.
Another will rise,
And he will fall too;
Until there’s more than a few dreamers,
People I serve will continue to swallow them whole.
All I am, is just another blip in the game that these masters play.

I wrote this when I joined a writing prompt on Instagram, I am quite proud of this, Tell me your thoughts in the comment session.