Freedom of the Oppressors


It’s the Melting Pot called “America.”
It’s the Diversity called “Racism.”
It’s the Acceptance called “Judgement.”

Lights flicker from buildings
Sounding the machine guns,
However, it was the candles that started the fire.

The fire that burns deep within the souls of the mini-me’s.
The ones swallowed up and spit out with the words of Discrimination.

We are the ones,
The ones who got away,
The ones who, when injured, are hooked up to the blood bags
The blood that sheds into the cracks of the sidewalks we play on.

The lights flicker,
However, it was the candles that started the fire.

The deep echo of broken-down voices
Mimic each other, for it’s all they know to do.

We are the ones.
The ones who got away.
The ones who, when left behind, pick up our pace
The pace given to us through the mere existence of stereotypical rationales.

The lights flicker.
However.
The candles were the ones who started the fire…

Posing as a facade of the Unknown
We are drafted into wars that have already been won.
We are drafted because of our appearance,
Our clothes,
Our Flesh and Bones.

The lights dim.
The candles ignite.
The fire is put out.

The machine guns conquer..
No. Naivety conquers.

Our color fades into the serene sunset,
mainly red, mainly yellow, mainly orange.
Serenity conquers.

we are the ones who got away.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem