Not innate, but grown
Decades of struggle
Centuries of abuse
All grown from a mustard seed
Used to feed the few
To give strength
At the expense of variants
Those unfortunate souls
Chopped up to feed the hounds
Built into the very foundation
Of shining castles
The brutal times fade
Lost to history
Quite intentionally
And a golden age rises
Or rather,
One of pyrite
But only the surface
For in its core
Screams the souls of the oppressed
Those thrown to they pyre
And wrapped in chains
And forced into years of struggle
Simply to be seen as human yet again
So as children sneer
When adults hide their faces
Yet are doing the same
We can see the cost
Tonnes of flesh
A moving mountain
Squirming in agony
And clouded in disdain
Should the dark clouds falter
And the light of truth
Shines upon its weathered form
The tortured masses
Will be seen and heard
But only for an instant
Though, in this moment
We need to decide
Whether to know their voice
Or victimize ourselves
To the horrid truth
Of decisions we’ve sown
But, we can fix the sins of the past
And exhume those scorned
For history must change
If we are to truly live in castles
Those which are hallowed
Rather than hollowed



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