Hourglass

They say that the squeaky wheel gets the grease... but they failed to notice that the wheel is squeaking because it's filled with rats. Like the Trojan horse. Keep greasing it up and the ancient machines within become well-oiled, a further assistance to those autonomic mechanisms which serve only to hasten the arrival of another untimely demise.

They continue to point the finger and scream as the biggest sin remains to be the skin colour you were born in, and even our babies can no longer retain innocence or be seen as human. The cycle repeats as the explosions burst open the sky. Raining down like feathers. And your God floats away on a cloud.

And I'm still here, rooted to the tree of eternity. Lost in a land that refuses to let go, binds us with chains, silences us with shame, rips apart our emotions and attempts to eradicate our memories.