The red speck in the evening sky slid between the hills.
The tilted wine glass promises somewhere near.
While lonesome mothers struggled to pay their bills,
The children of the night shed no tear.
Less a pouring wine glass and more a raised sickle,
With both we seek and pursue the resolve to rebel
Against the watery eyes' trickle, a matter of pride
And against the state's oppression, a piercing decibel.
"Won't you cease to see that sign, son, and think once for yourself.
Notice a certain leeway, the incentive to run?
The reflection in the water is not what holds my eye.
I've seen too many fishes who've fallen for the bait."
No comments:
Post a Comment