Donald Trump has slammed the door
on families that had to flee
from zealots who perverted faith
and turned them into refugees.

He made a list of seven lands
where free will's treated as a sin.
Their people flee to squalid camps
until a new land lets them in.

But Donald Trump has made it clear;
he hates on basis of belief.
He's stoking ignorance and fear,
inspiring terrorism's grief.

These refugees have nothing left
but hope and will to work so hard
to build a free and better life,
but now they've been locked out and barred.

What of the Muslims in the states
who patriotically defended
the land whose leader now spews hate?
Is all their hope and love now ended?

Someday, if karma catches Trump,
he'll lose it all and have to flee.
Let him experience, first-hand,
the tears of the refugee.

I followed the marks of your tears
Until I reached a door of the unknown
I have to overcome my fears
To see someone like my own
Who has demons as peers
Buried in ones deepest dungeon

You wanted an escape
And I was about to run away
You are not a man who wears a cape
And I just want somebody who would stay
Even when I’m not in my perfect shape
And someone who will not sway

Amidst the battle, you hold my hand
The demons we could not fight
So together we make a stand
So much better when someone is on your side
Let us make an unbreakable bond
And in each other’s arm let us hide

And this is how I found you
In my way to break free
Myself, I see in you
So we helped each other flee
In darkness, I will hold you
And one day, through it a flare we will see

Cellophane mounts,
Where the sacred forbids,
     And my ribs ache a little,
     And the sofa’s rotten,
Come the morning you weren’t here.

Laundry molds,
When the dishes welcome roach,
     And my tongue’s among dry,
     And my ankle’s gone numb,
Come the morning you weren’t here.

The music’s somewhere else,
Where the air’s more stale than before,
     And my finger’s twitch a’call,
     And my ears cry before the baby,
Come the morning you weren’t here.

Plaster cakes the floor,
When the door knocks certain death,
     And my bones start to bare,
     And my shoulder’s poking through,
Come the morning you weren’t here.

Green becomes a the fridge,
Where night’s now alter years,
     And my side starts to burn,
     And my lungs whimper when eased,
Come the morning you weren’t here.

But I am. Oh Lord! I am! And near ends
When the state sucker-punched,
     And I know you feel the same
     And our son feels the same,
Come the dawn prior day we’d fled.

Just a few days then I can runaway with you
Off to the mountains
To the forest
Away from everyone
And everything
I can't wait to runaway

Firstly Hand me over to the pouring rain
Let me be soaked in that flooring pain
Be sure to let me me enjoy my goring gain

For I surely believe not in my plastic fame,but
Let me enjoy this acidic game I designed , Cos
I   know not  the rules of this drastic shame

Lastly Let me enjoy my intoxicating
Oxytocin that preserves my metamorphosis
To an ignominious state that will prevail
Through my youthful altercations.

The fly on my finger says, “it’s gonna rain.”
So the spy ‘round the bend screams, “RUN!”

I try, but I step on a nail; therefore – I cease, I die,
And am born once more, Come the dead been before.

That’s when those days became a “pitter-patter,”
So let it sink, and I’m not so innocent anymore.

I’d blame the cat that crossed my path, it wasn’t black,
I’d blame the hat that drew her eye, but I wouldn’t;

I’d only run, flee, I’d heed the call of “Lawrence,”
So that bells could ring and wings be granted.