A Nation Torn

The winds howl with voices wrapped in gold,
Selling freedom, but only when bought and sold.
A carnival barker, his tongue spun lies,
Yet the faithful bow with vacant eyes.

The richest man, aloft in the stars,
Plays god with wires, with bots, with cars.
A laughing king with hands so cold,
Turns truth to ash, then sells it bold.

And in the chapels, high and bright,
The holy writ twists into might.
No kindness left, no grace remains,
Just walls of laws and rusting chains.

They burn the books, they bind the womb,
They call it faith—a nation's tomb.
Yet justice lingers, fierce and wild,
In every voice, in every child.

So let them preach, let them decree,
Let them think they silence thee.
For every time they dim the light,
The fire burns twice as bright.