Words are the seeds of rebellion
A simple sentence may imprint a design of unrest
On the minds of the oppressed
And when watered by the unending tears
Of the motherless child
Of the widow or widower
These seeds spring eternal as weeds in the gardens of the oppressors
How quickly these starving plants grow
In the perceived beauty of the truly demented souls
Of those who used the corpses of the tormented as the topsoil
For their design of a utopia
The weeds of unrest will rise in the minds of those who have lost all
In a sacrifice for the comfort of those who walk above them
They will choke the oxygen
From the society
Who survives off of them
Those who carry the world on their backs
Words are the seeds of rebellion
And they are those who will stand
When these perverted gardens fall around them

The smoke of the ashes darkens my already ebony lungs
A black that knows no bounds has settled on the desolate ground
Being what caused this plague in the first place
The sunrise no longer has meaning
With no hope for the day to come
For today will be the same as all preceding ones
So I sit
And I write
Because that is what I do
Yet I no longer write of beauty nor love
For both have been stifled by the oppression of such a complete eradication
Of all the things I once admired
The things that lined the pages of all my pieces
So as I sit and watch the smoke rise from my cup
Seeing others walk by enticed
By whatever is on their devices
I put down my pen and close my book
For there is no longer anything to write or romanticize
To admire
If there is no longer anyone to look

Where will you lie if you are right
In the ground with all those who have died
Those who's names are inscribed in the marble above
Their acts may be printed in some book
Or their love may be remembered by those who held their hearts
Remembered by yellowing love letters
Scribed by shaking hands
But if you are right it is worthless
Though knowledge may comfort us in our death
You will receive no solace in being correct
For you won't exist
Your mind won't be there to comprehend
The justified emotions of being right
But what if you're wrong
What if the discarded message of salvation
Was more essential than you could have ever known
What if there is a father who will weep
Knowing that you threw away his grasping hand
And rather chose to harshly descend
In a sorrow so deep and unknown that our earthly minds can't comprehend it
So if you're right there is nothing
No consequence
But if you're wrong