I've heard my Mother speak about the war throughout it's time.
I've heard my lover speak about the war and seen her cry.
I've heard my brothers speak about the war, from other sides,
But the boys and I just cannot grasp our tanks and guns, and all their crimes.
I've heard the wise men speak in ignorance of "phantom dimes".
I've heard the women's lamentations; they've no place to hide.
When half the world condemns their screams as though they've lost their minds
I've no surprise that we see groups of freedom fighters on the rise.
I've heard the violent whips and stabs of men who've never stepped in shoes
Of girls who've known this unfair world, and in arrogance they make their moves.
They speak in cruel and spiteful parables, as though they've paid the dues
That wives and daughters pay each day like slaves to houses they built too.
If Gabriel grabbed me by my collar and lifted me from my church's pew
To be a scribe for these tortured souls I'd have a bigger point to prove-
For God and his angels, who speak in tunes of love and tolerance are ruined
By the tangents spewed by lukewarm hearts who'd hate all others to their tombs.
And those same strong forces who charge in anger to claim this war is nothing real
Forget that the casualties stack up every day, though wounds aren't struck with steel.
How many women die with dreams that are buried by other men's movie reels?
How many women sit in a vibrant agony told that it's ghosts they feel?
Put into motion, concerning the gears of the blind, by the unknowing, pitiful evil,
The force of oppression sews threads of corruption through all of our hearts. Men are the needle.
Half of our world is respected through a veil, or not at all, by eyes that in blindness are feeble.
A virus of abhorrence masked by an artificial truth has fully infected our people
Morals divine would weep for the women subjected to this; like weeds on the vine,
Men who proclaim to improve this cold world yet indulge on these ways will choke as they dine.
The families she grows, the men she loves, the world she craves, wasted lights that shine!
But the boys and I just cannot grasp our tanks and guns, and all their crimes.
YOU ARE READING
The Wall Which Cannot Break
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry that I submitted to Button Poetry's 2018 Chapbook Contest. It focuses on gender inequality, the oppression of females, and the struggle for women to break the wall built between them and men to keep them below.
