Weary Soul ( #NaPoWriMo Poem 25 of 30 )

 

My soul grows weary in times like these;

turmoil tornadoes through cities,

debris piles up in hearts,

where hope dodges the bullets.

These heartless assassins seek control

through depression,

economic and of liberty.

Chokeholds, they reaching for our souls.

How foolish these demons are to believe

they are anything but human;

linked in

and if we go down they too will be sinking.

Can’t cut these umbilical ropes;

the ties that bind,

like yo-yo string; they fling themselves out

only to

rewind back to center again.

It’s simple Orwellian processes;

a cycle that the masses always

win.

The pig’s fall prey to self assassin,

cutting off the blood flow of their power;

the respect of

the people.

So my soul grows weary and these teary eyes

can’t count the blood stains;

they all smeared into a massive Red Sea,

salted by our sweat and screams.

My soul is heavy

cause these young ones facing this upon entry here

but I”m lifted

knowing the victory

has always been ours

since the Earth was begun.

It is but hours

til their reign be done.

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