When they stepped out of the barricades,
Having chopped off square, the people's share
Of quaint and regal crowned heads
The French discovered terror in their streets,
Violence in their beds, dread in their minds.
You may ask, what was the purpose of
A Republic of blood, Danton did answer
Before drinking from the same cup,
'No man is to be left outside the canvas
Lest God's absence be incomplete',
Many shades, yet, a single painting:
French citizens became pigments.

The king decided to finance rebellion
On the other side of the world, he sealed
For good what would become of him:
A la Lanterne and on a pike! Besides
Men had not left England to become sons
Of an absent queen, nor servants of a
Self serving state of obedient sin.
Tocqueville would notice a few transient facts
During his journey, one stayed with him
Until he reached shore, every soul, from
Plymouth on, had a name and a specific creed,
Not to be quashed, not to be confused,
This was not a painting, rather a mosaic:
Americans turned into pixels.

Marcel Aouizerate

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pigments-pixels/