The Scars On The Faces of Gods:
The tyranny does not seem to lessen.
Each day that passes, the voices grow louder,
A hungry mob crying out for equality.
A class consciousness blooming from the rot,
A thousand years of subjugation gifting life to anger.
This is our reckoning.
A hundred thousand angry hornets with naught but bars to hold them,
And naught but flesh to sting,
The world warms.
First warm and gentle,
Then boiling and not.
The tyranny does not seem to lessen.
Fools with false wealth.
Imaginary capital.
Eat your wealth.
Choke on the gold.
Each day that passes pushes us closer to the guillotine.
We have tried education.
Yet the brainwashing proves too strong to break.
We have tried peaceful protest.
And were gunned down in the streets.
We tried gathering and taking space.
And were met with more violence.
Yet decried when we resorted to the same.
Attacked the false idols of capital,
Instead of the enforcers.
We are growing tired.
Tired of the grind, the suffering, and the disparity.
Tired of carrying others upon our backs,
And society upon our shoulders.
Whilst weak, snivelling cowards sit in golden towers,
Preaching virtues as might the snake oil salesmen.
We are very close to losing our civility,
And bringing forth the guillotine, instead.
Make change.
Or those preventing the helping of others,
Will not linger long enough to see that change enacted.
