• In chemical-tinted chambers children have been gassed,
    In the deafening bursts of gunfire innocent civilians have passed.
    Earthquakes toppling buildings, planes lost in a sea of black,
    More sudden and painful than Michael Jackson's heart attack.
    Meanwhile, back home, families have yet to be told,
    Still making prayers staring at photographs of loved ones they hold.
    Tears calling memories forth from the low quality of color,
    More brightening than the faded smiles and ill-captured laughter.
    But they don't want the past, it's the future they wanna know,
    Repeating the same question, always the same question, "Is Daddy coming home?"
    But the truth remains disguised,
    Beneath false promises and lies,
    That which we live under, our unjust systems,
    Confident words stabbing our minds with irregular rhythms.
    Messing us all up, until when
    We pick up a pen,
    And with the words of freedom writers,
    Putting down the swords of freedom fighters,
    We sing,
    We scream,
    We rhyme,
    In perfect time.
    To the unknown souls who weave the words,
    We salute you even as we sheathe our swords,
    To the unknown souls who paint the phrases,
    We honor you even as we empty the bullet cases.
    Only others insist to hate,
    And they whip out weapons of high firing rates,
    Threatening civilization,
    Sentencing prisoners to cremation,
    Never seeing the tears of families fall,
    Never considering the lack of good it does all.
    Ignoring the unknown souls that which are affected,
    Forgetting donations to save lives that which are collected.
    Freedom was never free,
    As never was anything good without a fee.
    The more you have to love,
    The more you have to lose,
    Tears and blood is the price we pay
    The price for freedom one more day.
    Meanwhile young souls remain blissfully unaware,
    Texting during their English lesson without another care.
    Few spot the signs and understand the cause for the symptoms,
    Pained past the point that can be translated into rhythms.
    To call this place home and have its metal gleam dull into rust,
    Dwellings into ashes and concrete jungles into dust.
    The flowers and caskets grow in population,
    Governments try to keep fear out of the heart of their nation.
    But we know, and we're scared,
    Starting to think no one cared.
    I dedicate these words to the unknown souls,
    Who find their fabric of invincibility decaying with holes.
    Our foundations will decay, unless we fight with words,
    Paint our phrases and throw down the swords.
    The unknown soldiers not only feel the scars of war,
    We the unknown souls will take the pain 'till we feel no more.