Oppression is a constant class
Akin to time and matter’s mass.
The wars may all be over,
But The War is never over.
Those who reign above all throw
Leavings to those far below
And the only alteration is a place, a time,
A different pace for a different clime.
Those trodden-on underdogs
Lift their heads ‘spite egregious wrongs
And gather in numbers to throw now off
Those shackles and to the oppressors doff.
Just as justice rings her bell,
And injustice gross has fell,
Like a symphony beautifully ringing
As all freedom’s flowers are springing,
The cycle begins anew like clocks,
Working around, so devoid of baulks.
