As the tether left its final strand,
We stopped to stand aside and stare
We know not where the kite would land
A kite of hope in the land of despair
Thousands of feet race past crying
While, thousands of feet up in the air
We cut the strings one at a time,
Letting them bleed with every tear
Tears of wailing walls which hid
Shimmering moons and splendid suns
Sold off for the highest bid
For a drop of oil, or a few weapons
No longer mind what’s wrong or right
Words don’t mean what they did once
The halls of power now need some quiet
So can you stop the noise, of-guns?
Poetic Injustice 