People wear stickers because they are too afraid to be branded.
The impermanency, the versatility.
No more many men of conviction. Just dissention,
where their symbols can merely be peeled off and replaced.
Not worn in fear of letdown nor betrayal.
But fashioned to please, to be ahead, to be behind the lead.
The swapping of stickers in a way quite sickening.
A practice followed by those always needing to sell something
they themselves refuse to buy.
Stickers can be sides, each beyond a line,
yet with all the lower ranks kicking up dust, by deserting like the tide.
Barely a sword drawn, hardly a tail to find.
And then the avengers
Boredom, pain and malcontent seem the only ingredients
to birth those of conviction.
But as a single particle can bring life or death
when added to the equation
so do the words from the biggest of mouths.
Thoroughbreds on a course, eyes limited, nostrils a fire
Stampeding their voices over the terrain inhabited by those
who unlike themselves are actually affected.
Or the mules whose hard lives, contribute to self righteous ideals
hard to drop.
Soldier of god, patriot, the fanatical, the pawns of politics,
all in all nothing but fools with different chemistry.
Jaded and hated, for a reason, corrupted and used
Forever in no short of supply with the races always full,
of those near blind, by their speed to react.
Numbered and sponsored they all race to eventually stop
in the place they had started.
Running on empty and bearing stickers still.
