The People by Tia Voth

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The smell of death in the air,
is the language of our war.
The injustice to the people,
is the weapon of government.

The cries of the hurting,
are the sounds of the alarm.
The blood in the streets,
are from witnesses that couldn't calm.

The racism, sexism, inequality,
marks the X on a broken map.
The falling of the sun,
marks the chance of a fresh breath.

The smut covered faces,
reveals the horror of nightmares.
The broken down houses,
reveals the rift in reality.