Poem 4


The swaying trees retain their peace—
The streets remain unchanged…
This town, though, is in jeopardy
methodically arranged.

The faction sworn to set us free
from a foreign scourge
is one enthralling fallacy
of which our minds need purge.

How long until we comprehend
how they have chained our thoughts,
and that, until we make amends,
all of our lives are bought?

Why does our fear weigh heavier
than our will to be heard?
Why can’t we have a saviour
whose deed would match his word?

When will the mindful of my land
to common notice bring
the direness which is at hand?
Till thousands more knells ring?


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