The freedom so enticing,
It was a hierarchy of passion,
The dream, the makings of pure genius,
The Journey a semblance of spiritual runs,
The dripping sweat so potent.
Actions hitting notes way higher than words could ever,
Control barely on the agenda,
Men’s legacies nothing but sacrifice,
Death came and swiftly left by daybreak,
The stench so potent.
The rise fast forwarded,
It was a far throw into the pictured future,
The language enriched with the emblems of blue,
Peace was bumped to second nature.
The tale, that of a potent political force.
Circles mashed into formless abstracts,
The dream plastered like a poster,
The trail was no longer spiritual,
Blended into a game of cunningness,
The remedy of an ailing core extremely potent.
Yet it healed nothing.
The loss of conscience; a slow fall into democratic slumber,
Losing the fight to uphold standard,
The toxins remained so potent.
The heroes; gun burns still serving as reminders,
Stand firm; the images of the beginnings still fresh
Yet, molded to be worshipped and mystified,
The taste of their boots remain so potent
..on the tongue of a nation.