STATISTICAL CHART

In the light’s glow, I’m but a snail,
Gazing at lies poured in barrels,
And cell walls that I cannot scale,
Asking both self and all, in peril:
Do we wish to be counted, mere sums,
On charts that the government lies have spun?

Never to reach heaven’s door,
But scorched by flames of hellish maws.

It needn’t be a faceless ghost,
Whose head feels the world has caved in.
What does freedom mean the most?
What does it mean to love, and win?
What of hate, and what it costs?

When we kill our own, kin to kin,
I won’t be but a mark to count,
Reduced to digits, drowned in din,
And wars that come, like a sunrise mount,

Before dawn’s light, blood and guts fly,
Like a cat that forgot its paws’ ties.

:: March 5, 2025 ::