Do we accept the wounds we think we deserve? Is there a choice
in the pain we inflict upon ourselves, in choosing how much we bleed,
For our flags, our heroes, our lovers and our ideas?

Is there consolation in knowing that Justice is served by our own hands?
Pain is dealt in our silence, in our choice for quiet
When the multitudes of broken hearts and starving Stomachs
need a voice.

All is not lost in the  trust that we place on Humanity, hoping,
that we can defeat the waves of bigotry which crash,
upon the shores of our homes, to break the spirit that we
foster through times of peace.

Hate is the fuel for carnage, the bitterness of people,
lost, without a voice, lost, in the blanket of silence,
that we tuck them in.