My words too often used by others
From my lips, honesty was evident
As you know, never very nice rather frank
Unapologetic, like my love for you
I suspect it's the youth and naivety
Still I fear your cursed words
"It can never be the same"
Our fire fueled as much or more
Than days before we were grown
But will all other flowers fail from now on
Because of your enchanted warmth
Now I will never be the same

Private prisons, a brand new cup;
Now some reasons to fill 'em up.

When the prison is a profitable place,
Slaves'll be marched to fill the space.

"They too had a dream that
one day their sons, daughters,
grandsons, granddaughters ...
might pursue prosperity &
happiness in this land."

Well perhaps not Ben ...
perhaps while 10% of their
chained compatriots died around
them in the dark, ****-filled hull
of this heaving slave-ship they
may well have dreamt of home,
of family, of safety, warmth, of
the basic human right to dignity
& freedom & an ability to simply
walk through life going upon
one's business without the threat
of armed traders carting you off
to other lands ...
perhaps they dreamt of that,

& perhaps upon arrival & unloading
& a brutal harsh sunlight & a reckoning
of those you knew who'd died & been
thrown to the sharks & an examining
of teeth & body as a horse at trade
while upon a block as folks whiter
than you shouted out in strange
tongues & your wife & child were
elsewhere & your whole life was at
that moment in cruel & tragic collapse,
you might have thought of other things
rather than ...
Oh lord, yes, yes, one day I'm going
to be able to make a buck in this Land
of the Free and Home of the Brave ...

You're treading slumber steps,
sloward on a single track.
Travelling beyond where
your eyes can see.
Just because you made the
choice it doesn't mean you're free.

With symbols of your uniformity,
as definitions of your individuality.
Selling yourself to yourself
just to sell it to others.
Living A life that suits;
as well as Oregon boots.

An inquisitive mind—flourished from oppression into a cave as rich as Reed mine
Where tourists can flood my thoughts
Pick at my gold and sell it for their lives
Stabilizing their own
While weakening my historic rise
Greed increases, and relationships are seceded
Because everyone wants to obtain sacred pieces

 
Wandering through pixels of distorted visions
Gatherers become hunters
Painting with blood, their own ambitions
Setting standards for the continuing generations
In turn, a figurative genocide
For the sake of remaining proclamations
Paralyzing, terrorizing, and destroying indifferent others

 
If time manipulates unfortunate events, perhaps the solution
Is just the opposite
Creatures of habit soon face an evolution
Once protagonists reach a state of lucid retribution
It defines them as antagonists playing a role of uncanny acts
The renowned vigilantes use time as their sword
To reenact their own demise and call unto their lord


Scattered within the affluent cave
The people and their children
And their children's children
Are enslaved, digging their own graves while being influenced by vacuous hopes and darkened shapes
The repetitive motions devolved into psychopathic notions
They attempted to escape but were punished for breaking the rotation
Whipped, humiliated, and shamed
The cave insulated the pain
By offering priceless artifacts
Within my knowledgeable den

Glancing again, what happened?
Why did they die?
Have they seen us, the poeple?
For whom they fought bravely
Holding hope, the only weapon
The only inspiration, dragged out

Then go through every aspects
Slavery, prison, torture, death
Or more, living worse than death

You can see how it turned well?
And still ruining the whole respect
Hell, we brought the laws, divided
Race, cast, religion, gender, wealth
Can you think about anything else
Done with it, where they left, we start