||| Three Fingers
Updated: Mar 4
||| three fingers
we belong to a country with fingers as prison bars
every word thrown in the swamp
tongues buried in a grave
ammunition cremated
you call us traitors
cut our hair; shatter our mirrors
leave us stranded with a slap on the wrist
three fingers still upright
atrophy from the white ribbon
they don’t have ears but long to have another mouth
"love your country, kid."
the clock’s three fingers have only turned once
how do you know what’s good when you have never seen it?
give me your hand so i can slap it
children
unaware of what freedom smells like
born and raised by khaki troops
swearing loyalty like singing karaoke
holding up