I stare at stretched lips, a memories etched in reflection..
sketched into next kin , who suffer from hex of complexion..
conffesions of questions, as words exit through stretched limbs..
the progress of oppression, is nothing but a test of expression..
at best i expect men, to obsess with smiles disguised as faces..
allies are makeshift, who discover a dream, and find lies to replace it..
it relies on the basic..notion that our prize isn't sacred..devotion..
our eyes, disgraced by emotion, see writings in sand..erased by an ocean..
history is a puzzle, troubled, and is depicted as a masterpiece..
with scattered pieces, matters deepen when speech would rather cease..
shattered peace, is the provoker of standing at the surface..
what's worst is, elevation is minimal when expansion is the purpose..
But it hurts less, knowing the true nature of the length of the fruit..
some use it for food, and others find use in the strength of it's roots..