Born, raised, bred to kill.
Are we people or product with will?
Shoved into a mold not picked.
The horizon is beginning to look bleak.
Weathered by the hail of lead.
Maybe one day it will come to an end.
Conclusion to the war storm.
No more criminals parading in uniform.
Machinations hidden by paper thin walls.
The old world order labelling us all fools.
With nothing new to prop up the system.
Lacerations cover us and prevent conviction.
State of affairs that hurts to have to admit.
These days are dragging more than a bit.
Words I should say aloud or keep to myself?
Decision has become paralysing, bringing collective suicide.
Broker passage from same to different.
Truth is none of it is changes societal intent.
Grafted to the billboard are twisted slogans.
Each warrior born for serving nothing.
Possession is cutting deep into me and you.
Anymore and it’ll be brainwashing our opinions too.
Forcing state through cookie-cutter declaration.
Now let me introduce finalities pre-determined exaggeration.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 