How come that sins are single slips of skin
and not the iron fists of armored men?
How come that honor comes from swords
and not from words we carve with pens?
How come we call the cowards brave,
while heroes will be shot at dawn?
How come we let the pot call kettle black
and never question if we’re right?
Why do we always give the answer first
before a question has been asked?
Why do we let the music blare,
and stare at those who praise the silent nights?
When will we ever learn that praised are those
who cannot tell if it’s dark or light?
When will understand that future’s found
by following the narrow road?
December 22 2016