Poetry: The Test

raindrops singing on the stones
create a melody alone
unaccompanied by the cheers
that were lost in gasps of fear
when shots like cyanide rang out
and stained the ground with tears

the rain dilutes the puddles red
that paint the pictures of the dead
frozen by the shutter clicks
of lenses that caught lightning quick
the terror of the ghosts created
by the scythe of politics

but the downpour cannot drown
the static laced atop a sound
belted from the bowels of rust
that exist beneath the hollow crust
some call peace and some call lies
but none can claim they truly trust

this sound takes on a solid presence
the face of steel becomes its essence
it situates itself behind
what’s real and what behooves mankind
to march for freedom, justice preach
and so leaves soldiers wholly blind

but the steel is made of many slats
and its gaps cannot hide all the flack
that came to rest between the bodies
of the silenced horde who lobbied
for greater good over greatest greed
and earned death for their simple folly

and so we all, in tricks of light
witness bits of what we know is right
but with half the memories buried
we cannot fight for what they carried
so we struggle hard to overcome
the test laid by our adversaries

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