They shout from screens like prophets wronged,
In echo chambers, loud and long—
Proclaiming doom with furrowed brows,
While torching truth and bending vows.
They scrawl their rage on strangers’ walls,
And call it courage, as it sprawls—
Defaced, defamed, devoid of grace,
A tantrum dressed in freedom’s face.
They sneer at nuance, mock debate,
Then gaslight every voice they hate.
Ideas? They’ve none—they only burn,
And wonder why we don’t return.
No blueprint drawn, no plan in sight,
Just fists that clench instead of write.
They point at all that’s cracked and worn,
Yet offer nothing but more scorn.
It’s easy, isn’t it—to blame?
To shout a threat, then dodge the flame.
But healing takes a steadier hand,
And courage built from where you stand.
So go ahead—scream to the void,
But don’t pretend you’ve built, not destroyed.
Until you speak with care, not spite,
You’re just more noise, not part of light.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf