Whispered Words of an Angry Mob

My head keeps rolling, down to the ground,
Spinning on top, round and round,
It gets me quite dizzy and makes me sick,
Watching the clock go by, clicking tick, tick,

The people walk all down the street,
Whispering words of broken defeat,
Their voices may be clear, but very small,
Some only take baby steps or even crawl,

When a person does speak very loud,
There starts to gather a very large crowd,
Their faces all red with anger and hate,
But their voices all quiet and late,

The mob grows and grows till you can’t see,
The devastation this world has brought on me,
The words may be whispered, but this,
This angry mob of voices can’t be missed.

Made by Nicole Becastro