Vision is lost, What we do is not dictated by what we see. My father once told me that every history lesson has truth in it, and that to find it, one must imagine. Imagine that the chains of slavery are grasping your hand with your last breath. Think as if one were stuck in limbo, in a government run dictator murderer envisioning my future. Describe the feeling when you put your patriotism aside to learn the truth. History is a neverending clock, each hour represents a mistake, a repeat of an everlasting action that haunts even the most humble. We all want that moment of truth, of silence dedicated to our fallen. Yet, when we speak of fallen and truth, do the hums of every slave who has died for a country they could not call their own ever ring in our heads? The laughter of children playing at the park are now replaced by countless cries, grasping for air as the bulldozers run over the last remains of a home.
(Still a working progress but this is a piece of poem I started writing. In short time, I should have a few more stances added 🙂 )