So where is your fight, my brother?
quiet as it stills you
you are sleeping in thoughtless places,
in the places they will keep you,
floating in jars - suspended and silent
ignoring the scarlet trickle of everything you’ve gained
sorely gained
forgetting that no one will ever hand you
without a smile so stagnant but charismatic,
the other hand behind his back
are you lost in the jumble of their lies?
In the words that were meant
to content and to satisfy
and on one end placid and accomplished
and on the other enraged and poor
and that’s just where they like you
to keep you taking
to keep you quiet
speak in scratching symbols
like your leaders, so caught in rabble
to keep you bitter - not empowered
no mind to what has become of you
no cause - you are aimless
can you hear the ghosts
or feel the prickle of the haunting?
have your marches lost effect
while you wash their big left hand
so it’s free to dirty itself again
and free to clench and free to point
until you see victory in isolation,
strength in accusation
but you listen to the enemy,-
the scourge that whispers pleasing words
and you take from the hand that passes
that passes
you
on
in this sleep will come the fever
in your wait they keep you waiting
you eat their food to keep you hungry
they feed your fears but they’ll “protect” you
and if they lie, then you will hear them
make amends in changing words
retraction, correction, lying ways for lying ends
So my sister just where’s your fight
from the passion flame of history?
where is the shock of the ghosts that dangle
where is your righteousness, my brother
get it in your hands
before their hands
move
you
along
