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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Cultural · #2129979
A free soul who flew too high and saw too much.
As I fly amongst all monsters and men
With the former being the common kind
I find my sanctum inside an oak tree
Quite tall to see a world, not too blind

In nations across, a nation below
Wars are waged, men are hung
As sinful a woman would wait and sow
For their husband in pieces, because I have sung

"What song do you speak?" asks the eager fool
Fair and serene, as my song's painted grey
Not black, nor white, nor prejudiced tool
I trickle innocence, fall asleep towards May

I don't move as leaves fall, dead bark will suffice
As a cold, bitter home, though not quite as your hearts
That would feel content when it treats one as mice
For now they are small, and thus chewed apart

For their colour? Their kin? Their wellness? Their faith?
I've flown above beauty in some diverse place
For naivety or luck, I cannot quite fathom
Why this nation of pastures should spit on one race

A race, may I add, so beautiful but starving
For food and water, in a time not so kind
But the poor in the pockets are so rich in the heart
To beg for acceptance, but justice is blind

Blind justice, you say, is blind to colour
Blind justice, I say, is blind to a heart
Of a land of the "free", of one democracy
But in which fair acceptance will indeed, never start.

I flew in a town of monsters and men
I bother only with the former kind
The good men were hung, under soil or cement
My innocence shot by metal led blind

Nature doesn't change, pastures stay green
Nature doesn't change, humans stay green

Fly, youth, Fly
Cry, innocence, Cry
Die, bird, Die.
© Copyright 2017 Vinnie Faraday (vinniefaraday at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2129979