Untamed,
Randomly chosen,
Dreams are not to be decided by your desires,
but are chosen by your unconscious mind,
so secret, but still very much alive.

From where I stand,
on this concrete piece of land,
rain spills down,
like tears of man,
which flows in river of black liquor and whatever man decides to have.

But humans aren't the only ones who cry,
as this statue is also just sad,
watching death after centuries of its rise,
and wants to cower but is more stone than man alive.

Through our conscience,
we perceive, how life is meant to be.

Cowards,
they may have been called, through out the first world war,
but I believe, they were brave,
as they stood up with words,
not swords a blaze.

It is sad to say,
that they became a nuisance in society rule,
the white feather they endured.
Alienated from their place,
their neighbourhood,
their way.

The isolation was put in place,
to break them,
to propaganda their way.