Rebellion

It’s like hell itself has swept through the land.

The windows shatter into little bits,

the reflection seeing nothing besides

peace. The breeze blows through, cold, lifting the hair

on the back of one’s neck and whispering

in one’s ear, you’re doing the right thing.

You can see the screams of the damned and taste

the rage in there minds, feel the cold touch of

revenge. Donald Trump is aghast, claiming

these to be such violent outbursts, it’s a

danger to all. But the people are just

dancing, they carry no weapons, he’s the

one sending the soldiers, sending the guns.

Though, there are no hymns for the forgotten.

No hymns for the idea of the gabelle,

do you even know what that is? No one

ever speaks of it, they just focus the

past, the tea. They still sing “Freedom for all!”

so I cannot judge them too much. The scarred

hands raised to the skies of the people’s will.

The people cleared of the guilt of laughing.

Venetia joins the crowd, joining in

the march for all with a joy on her face

that’s never before been seen. And Jean, she

raises her own flag, willing to stand side by

side with everyone else. Soon, they would all

learn the cruelty of the few of their

fellows, friends. (Those kind-hearted murderers)

They won’t allow a couple to buy a

cake for their wedding day, they’re different.

(Du siehst den Wald vor lauter Bäumen nicht.)

The people shout and scream, their flags joining

them, shouting into the wind. The men march

in, guns held at their sides and shields up, the

people shouting against it, they are not

fighting, a little boy walks by, offering

water to the soldiers just before they

aim their guns to the crowd of innocents.