Executing Our Children
Thought’s existence is a subtle one,And this, a veritable truth,
But the child that my mind conceived,
My hand should execute
In my mind words form,
Through thunder, rain and storm,
Clean your house if you’re grown,
Don’t advise others on their own,
For humans become in their boast,
The thing they hate the most;
Liberator becomes tyrant,
Abused becomes abuser,
Father becomes pedophile,
And mother becomes a user,
So be diligent in this,
By removing the dirt and mist,
For while treating others like dirt,
We can never know love on earth,
What some people call love,
Is really nothing short,
Of prejudice and bias,
Of a vey common sort,
Yes! Thought’s existence is a subtle one,
And this a subtle truth,
For the child my mind did conceive,
My hand did execute.
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