The Anarchist

I feel the calling in my blood
To raise aloft the banner black
No dull restraint can quench the flame
No worldly fear can hold me back

Inspired by tales of times now gone
When spirits soared and tyrants fell
My will is watered by the hope
Drawn up from Revolution’s well

I yearn to be what I could be
To find the moment best to strike
At that foul foe of many names –
The State, The Thing, The System, Reich

Oh what I’d give to join the throng
That storms the halls of power and greed
Rips up repression by its roots
And plants instead Sweet Freedom’s seed

But in the meantime I’ll keep on
Against the odds, against the crowd
I’ll speak the words that can’t be spoken
Dream the dreams that aren’t allowed

My rebel days are flying fast
And glory may still pass me by
But born anew and ever true
The Anarchist will never die

Paul Cudenec

(The author formally retains copyright over this work but permits non-commercial reproduction or distribution)