December 11, 2009
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Inkwells spilling oppression and then freedom
Fields rife with honor raising a sour stench for
The dreams that won’t stay muffled in their rifles

Signs rooted like a row of daisies at the steps of forefathers
Waving amicably from human roots savage for cessation
Of trading gunpowder smoke and the Morse code of warthogs

Pictures moving as fast, and the mouths are revved like a motor
People counting with their hands while their heads are in the gutter
Some peppering the papers, striking all who dare call it cinnamon

Homefront taking up the banner while loved ones protected that right
In deserts and muddy banks- Hell in all kinds of dirt, fighting for
Coarse yells when the red, white, and blue diminished to

Black cinders.

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