Is it a result of my own actions,
the consequences of which
remain unbeknownst to me
that I live in this quintessentiality?

My luck, not to be reckoned with –
For it continues to beckon my patience –
Its tolerance degenerating,
and my threshold for it is shaken,
as I persist through this reality.

In this country of mine,
I know not what is made for me.
For my pleasure nor my gain,
But I know what is made by me
Or rather, what isn’t: uttered from my lips.
It is my silence – I stand by it so dearly.

For, I have seen with my own eyes,
and I have heard firsthand, so clearly:
Mouths and faces smothered,
Only to smell our burdens fill the air
when gasping for breaths.

There isn’t but one path to violence.
These are battles we must fight
in this brave new world we reside.
Where only the speechless will suffer
In the war against silence.