Drawing lines in imaginary spaces
Dividing all by the color of their faces
Their races, their language, where their space is
Does not matter if the line cuts through homes
The tomes that they read about God
That say draw a line,
Draw a sword,
Draw blood
Let it flood,
Let each space be washed in red
The slaughtered heads which your lines create
Fate hangs in balance as with your HB2 Ajanta
You draw a line, so fine,
It’s only yours not mine
No rights, no left, no wrongs, no songs
No this, no that, no what, no ifs,
No buts, no whys
And then the darkening of the skies,
The Junes, the Julys
As people prepare to cross the line
You rant, with a map in hand
Showing them where they stand
As they huddle together inside a box
You built for them as home
You turn out the lights
Squeeze the fight out of them
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