i icon

i don’t want to interpret the shadows
that we see on the walls of our caves

i don’t want to listen to quiet voices
that ones a silent and dry throat craves

i want to cast those shadows sharp from the outer world
i want to be the voice heard above the crowd, crisp, unfurled
let my image be the icon that headlong into the masses is hurled

better to be the selfish one broken by many a grasping hand
then the prostrate beggar who forgets how tall to stand

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