Collaboratively Written By: Badura Glenda Pereira, Tracy Shults-Wright, & Francis Powell
My head forging towards the unknown My body, it weighs like a stone. I was stretching, retching from the mass of the strain. Seeing scenes of seasick , crawling on into dawn tho’ my knees stick To the entrails of the living that I’ve been trekking through. From the dark ages visits insanity putting to the rack so much of vanity. I confess, I can’t help peeking at all the havoc that it’s been wreaking. And I can’t say as I see that anything that’s done is wrong. As tormentors start to taste a healthy dose of all the waste That they will cram into the gut of any qualified as mutt. Convinced, they are, this station is not deserving of any better. So rack them all up and feed them their sludge. In the bigger scheme of things... Who are we to judge? I’m uncertain just how effectively it will inspire empathy towards the plight Of those too beaten by them to fight. And those immersed in lives in which they know nothing of light. But in the shadow of the mighty, few arise to claim the right With loud enough a voice to make themselves heard For they allow us not before their hallowed thrones Hearts secured behind fortresses- nevermore to be stirred Freeing their devil dogs to fill bellies to bursting on the bounty of our bones Towering mountains of reeking flesh- throughout their canyons echo the calls Of those heads forging towards the unknown Learning and living in the desolation that comes full-blown From whence the lowly strive for equal peace withheld by those who hoard the keys. Laughing at the struggling from their condescending ease Teaching the low-born no hope, save maybe Armageddon frees. Running through those fields, with those dogs snapping at my heals
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