Our history is a rapacious bloom
Where guns have borne the victims’ doom
And did the victors bleed the flesh of ice
to scale the walls of prejudice?
Pale faces darkened with greed
Did justice lie among the weeds
Power wore the robe of impunity
Lies were masqueraded as honesty
A pretty reflection in a stolen mirror
Is the story of all their grandeur
Rebellion is bloody; but time is indignant
Upheavals don’t happen in an instant
Can we shake the trees from their roots?
It takes the weather to storm the untruths
But divine retribution is not the last to arrive
It seeks out those who did not pay the price
montes-musings.blog 