Take off the mask.
Should be our next task.
Otherwise we won’t last.
Land of the living cut down to size.
Freedom isn’t free if you don’t tell lies.
With splitting suns eclipsing.
Take me from this…
Juvenile infighting.
Crashing bombs and waning smiles.
Condemn us to be but files.
Stored away in cells stacked high.
So distant no one will hear our cry!
For hope to strip out the wrong.
Over and over we hear only a song.
Meant to drain, control and suppress.
Not sure how much more of this…
We can take.
Let us be!
Simon A Jackson - Writer 