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As Debates Roar, There Are Children Singing of Freedom

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As Debates Roar, There Are Children Singing of Freedom

They.

Sing.

With voices strained.

They.

Dream.

With eyes crusted on both sides.

And of debates where solutions.

To problems don’t get fumbled.

By headlines of those who dropped.

Or picked up.

The right and wrong vernacular tones.

Or Concepts.

That only legitimize.

Failing systems that ignored.

My Grandmother.

Me.

And hopefully not my children.

They.

Seem.

To not be talking.

Yet words come with miles per the hour.

Spheres in which words.

are only heard at higher frequencies.

similar to the voices of angels.

They sing.

Of.

Patriarchy.

Death.

Marginalization.

Rest.

That seems to never come.

Self-hatred.

Truth.

And while promises are often forgotten.

They sing of violence.

And liberties.

That were never digested.

Of smiles and smiling.

And how the closest they ever got to laughter.

Was only the echoing sound.

Of someone choking.

They.

Deem.

It necessary to reexamine.

Everything.

And they do mean.

All things.

Remembering how seriously

The past has betrayed them.

can’t stop singing.

As if vocal cords.

Are the only salvation.

One will encounter.

In a life where political speeches.

Get repeated.

Like bad music.

In popular culture.

They.

Feign.

tunes that have been deferred.

and breath until the eyes on lids.

Of generations start to look up.

And listen.

Until Euphemism turn into telescopes.

That get so close to detail.

They can almost tell truth.

They.

Sing of freedom.

Beautifully.