The Protest

Love must be the protest,

That never reaches the businessman.

Leaving paint to dry upon cardboard signs,

Never to be heard, but to be spoken by many.

And so today,

And for all of my tomorrows,

I educate my voice.

So that when they read textbooks, or draw blueprints or blood,

They hear voice that says,

"It is not lust, but love that gets here us in the end."