Where the Wind Goes

As the storm rages on,
The city comes alive,
Raising their weapons
Of fists and wood.

A tyrant enthroned at its peak,
Scowling at its denizens.
With a meaty pointer,
He shouts out an order
Calling for their heads.

The soldiers charge in loyalty
As the masses jeer in a frenzy.
The wind cries in sorrow,
As its people bathe in its blood.
The thunder crackles
As the war continues,
A beautiful lyre
Now sings its tune.

A coup is formed
In fear and disbelief,
Their eyes filled with tears
To the sins they commit.

The battle is over, the war won,
At a cost of a leader
That sings no song,
The lyre is left
Waiting for its owner.

The people mourn in tune,
Their song laid across the wind
For their future is set
Laid in freedom and choice.