No matter what I write,
not a thing will change,
no reason to this world,
no magic in the way I see it.

I believe in peaceful rebellion,
but it that enough?

No one will likely listen to my words,
they will listen only to action,
but what can I do?

Violence seems to be the key,
wars waged in the name of virtue,
change founded on a mountain of corpses,
America's truth.

And though I struggle,
nothing I do or say will be heard,
my opinion is worth little.

Is this the world in which I want to raise children?

A fragile peace,
fought with secrets,
with fear.

A savage place,
segregated by race,
and aggregated equality.

A world without change,
laws forged through bloodstains,
sanguine writ,
the only truth I see.

And so,
I retreat,
this world estranged from me,
a hermit hiding,
in what ought to be.