Protest?

A gangly ghost, a wiry messenger, credentials unfounded, the skyscrapers ablaze, the dissenter, laughing, long defected.  We do not see, the other, the universal law.  Though we feel, our children’s chill. We cannot manage, a seizure, in the stomach, another perilous prayer. You have treated me, largely, with respect.  And I have amassed a fortune, dwarfed by a few, who spell me small.  And you did not select me, and you have yet to elect me, perhaps to ensure that I remain, doubtful.  You looked at me, then I noticed you, and you then departed.  While crossing the bridge, I wanted to focus on the river, but I could not maintain attention. I could write the editorial, utter the poem, to relieve this tension, yet I do not want to comment, on Facebook.