Early on they had
Scarlet letters and stars of David pinned to their conscious-ness-es .
They self-chill when the ruffians take out their checklists,
saluting and barking orders.
They think about how low they can sink living this lie
They're queasy from swallowing pride while the doom deliverers
shake up the infrastructure.
They're sick of the directives from king's courts
in the capitals cutting up justice and using it for poker chips.
They have vague feelings about freedom
They hope from within for a miraculous solution
a non-violent love-in
but they know history
and they're weary.
They know they have to give up something,
some dark shadow they've never had the wind or will to blow off,
some invisible cancer.
It may as well be fear.
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