Ghosts of the keepers

of the stolen land remain 

to admonish us 

Bereft of belief 

except in the almighty 

dollar you pray to 

Last legs swept under,

lost at sea, to become tides' 

eternal plaything 

The mist won't clear but 

instead only deepens and 

forces blind entry 

These voiceless cries from 

the motherless children still 

carry and condemn 

Informational

blitzkrieg short circuits the facts 

sowing confusion 

Beatific despite 

the bruises you walk through mobs 

who taunt and threaten