Perturbation

Each dream, alive is kept
to face each day, left unspent
among the faces, false façade
amongst the backlash, of a
vein parade, a grand charade,
a off-key serenade.
A dream, perturbation
a moment, blemished
as each hope is vanquished
heads on the block, final
syllables, the black ink spills
from the pin-pricked heart
and fills the white-space with
cold conceits to the empty
words of the representative
democracy and the fascist
one percent that buy its every
move, give us hope back
soon, give us hope back, soon.