Revolution is a circle,
never complete.
It’s always alive,
especially in your dreams.
The sad part is waking
because is it ever what it seems?
Hope is hopeless,
and "freedom isn't free."
Or so says the slaveholders
who want to bleed it from me.
Maybe dreams are dreams,
because reality’s worse.
With each click of the clock
you realize life is a curse;
a vessel to carry you
to your pine in the dirt.
It takes a bullet to the chest
to digest what you’re worth.
Blood pools cool,
and you sidestep what was earned;
respect in death, only.
The wise’ll never learn.
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