"Marshal Law'

This is Martial Law.

Iron boots of oppression pound the desolate streets,
making void the once bustling sound of freedom,
the voices of kids laughing in the moonlight,
now is just an echo,
replaced by the shots of domestication,
ringing from the same barrels that once shouted for freedom.
The hollow shells drop leaving in their wake a hollow trail,
gunpowder soaks up the tears shed by liberty’s children,
they see them as "terrorists" fighting for a lost cause,
we see them as freedom fighters,
waging war for a cause never lost.
Neon green eyes peer through the darkness,
watching for the steps of those stepping out of place,
seeking to subdue the savage beast of patriotism,
and as the sun rises the dew holds drops of blood,
dripping from those who have a drop of hope,
drooling over the idea of having their country of old.

This is Martial Law.

These "rebels" are put down in public squares and dark alleys,
armor covered soldiers’ solid in their stares,
gaze into the eyes of their neighbors and friends,
unmerciful mercenaries paid with the idea of civil upheaval,
riddle these "traitors" with torrents of bullets,
no questions asked,
no answers needed.
The stench of decay hovers over city streets,
crowds of dreamers lie in waiting,
flaming bottles held steadily in their hands,
as the marching grows louder sweat lingers from the brows of anticipation,
windows filled with the faces of eager idealists,
the scent of freedom is smelled with every exhalation,
the feeling of independence felt as the salt perspires through every pore,
thickening the air around the passionate people patiently waiting for retribution,
revenge for the deaths of "deviants" that were nothing more than martyrs,
they were the parents and children,
who would not let the idea die.

This is Martial Law.

The ground shakes below their steady feet,
confident faces of supremacy collide with splenetic faces of uncertainty,
the light glows as the blaze rages,
cast from the hands of the caged ages,
swarmed with a torrent of ire and rage,
erupting from the soul of freedoms seekers.
The windows spit fire as the dark corners churn out lead,
from the rooftops the rebel cries haunt the dreams of the slumbering,
hailing from the skies,
a wall of bricks and stone descend upon the submissive soldiers.
In the middle knuckle meets knuckle,
bone meets bone,
blood meets blood,
subjugation meets freedom.
Cities rise to raze this abomination of a country they love so much,
to take to the streets with weapons in their hands and hope in their hearts,
the very blocks that used to be their homes now are war zones,
the sewers filled with the blood of martyrs and enemies alike,
draining from the roads above.

We will be undeterred from our cause.

Unswerving in our resolve.

Unstoppable in our revolution.

For this is our country.

This is our home.

This is Our Law.