By William Thorpe

I, and exquisite vessel

Have been broken into pieces

To be put back together again

Never to be the same,

My ways, scarlet,

a millstone

Tied around my neck,

Estimated by suppression

I became patient with authority

While helplessness was granted

And my ways unresolved,

Sacrificial in being, my thoughts balanced in time

And my conscience

Became a slave to the rich,

To be the believer of the American flag,

Where painted bodies see first blood,

A deception that brings nothing

But damnation to tired souls

I move to be free,

And giving an ear for evidence

Was magnificent,

To reason by ethical decisions

Not based on presumptions.