Peace through strength—

our strongman’s favorite slogan.

When will they learn?

You cannot gain peace through bombing.

Divinely guided, cross hung around the neck, Bible in

hand, quoting scripture as we bomb foreign land—

Sanctified greed, embodied in tailored suits.

Weapons of mass destruction

We have heard this all before. The curtain

lifts—same actors, just a bloodier encore.

Fear feeds the war machine,

Truths drowned in the uproar—

Peace is the headline,

But conquest is at its core.

The righteous sleep soundly, untouched by the flame, while mothers bury

the bones of children no one bothered to name.

They televise virtue, then bury the shame— sermon, a

slogan, a body, the same.

Write freedom in the ashes

Of the destruction you preach— Dust thou

art, to dust returneth.

For what you sow, you shall 

reap.

Lambs to the slaughter—

they chant and obey,

mistaking blind submission

for walking the Way.

“He’s chosen,” they cried.

“He fights for what’s right.”

A part of the nation,

newly emboldened—

he made them feel seen,

brought their voices into the light.

Each rally,

a liturgy of devotion.

Each word, deliberate—

a counterfeit gospel,

a prophet born

of the people’s desperation.

A sea of red hats,

flag-rapped loyalty—

the nation’s colors

repurposed for his political glory.

The swore he was chosen

to restore the fractured nation,

claimed divine intervention,

In the bullet’s deviation.

Saved—

for a time such as this.

Now we reckon

with the altar we built—

not for mercy,

but for power,

not for truth,

but for control.

For the savior we crowned,

was never just a man,

but a mirror of the nation—

and in worshipping him,

we are fated to become

another of history’s lessons.

None of this is written in stone

This is not our destined fate.

Hatred is a borrowed weight—

it does not belong to us,

not in this present state.

Now is our final turning,

our last chance to breathe free.

A war is being waged for the mind,

by hands we cannot see.

They bankroll the narratives

that flicker across your screen.

Do you ever wonder

whose voice speaks through the glass?

Who writes the code

that tells you what to see?

They plant false truths.

Twist perception.

Weaponize emotion.

Breed fear.

Normalize dehumanization.

Skin color is no exception.

It’s easy to target someone

who does not match your reflection.

They manufacture enemies

to justify deportations.

And when “illegals” run out,

who will be next on the flight list?

The future is not predestined—

it waits for us to claim it.

Hand in hand,

we are the crack

through which the light breaks in.