Fw: seeds of dissent root in the blood of martyrs

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seeds of dissent root in the blood of martyrs

together, we were strong, then

Apart, we fall unto a sword of personal perdition, 

acceptance of their insanity, over our own desires.

Opened our arms to their vendettas, 

Became what we once despised.

an age-old rhyme, freedom fighters 

How can change happen in a country where policy makers age out their worn-out old ideas about the world against the persistence of the young, the insistence of new minds who dont want old men with old minds to protect them.

The old architects of fear,

who can only build castles, walls, moats, call it progress, 

shame on them,

Here we are at Columbia again sixty years later, the same issues, same monsters running to the shelter of their always dying society, 

dying. dead. 

The children of the children of the children consummated by the old vestiges of war, genocide, lies. Encircled. We've seen this before. Every generation opens old wounds, says, look here, we are not free, and the old society responds, as it always does, with guns, men on horseback, men in armor, men without faces.

Dividing, dividing, dividing is the only math they know. Ignorance is all their ambition. Slicing, dicing, chopping. 

Fresh lies. engorged 

In the horn of plenty. Feast. of Vultures.