The trail of freedom is littered
With the tattered diaries of
The soft folk
The true folk
The loud folk
The small folk
Of lives passed
Reliving their trauma in their pages
Relating to it in our bones.
While these diaries line this trail
Like golden bricks covered in blood
They stop.
Where these books of scrapped words and scribbled out dreams lay
The abrupt stop of them is breathtaking.
The trail to Freedom does not end here, no
But everyone has stopped
Looking at the binds of books like as if it were a neverending cliff.
Footsteps of people who have stepped forward
Have been covered by
Time and dust
Behind the invisible line
Fighting has broken out
People steal pages from the diaries and claim their
Sacred
Ancient
Words
As their own
People steal the pages from the diaries and use those
Sacred
Ancient
Words
To damn the dead instead of killin’ those who need killin’.
The trail to freedom
Has more pages to put down
NEEDS more pages to put down.
And yet we are here.
Stuck
In this unfinished diary
On this unfinished trail.
Robin's Writings 