Verses from the Soul

Give me Liberty or Give me Death

 April of nineteen eighty-nine,

when Hu Yaobang left this world for the divine,

a liberal reformer moving towards equality,

working for Chinese lives of better quality.

 

His supporters assembled in Beijing,

at the height of an eventful spring,

students mourned the death of Yaobang,

and from these grievances the protests sprang.

 

"Democracy!" they cried,

their pleads resounding far and wide,

"Freedom for all! Liberty!" they said,

but none predicted that they would end up dead.

 

For seven weeks they remained,

demanding equal rights in vain,

as the disorder, chaos, and anger increased,

contradicting the Gate of Heavenly Peace.

 

Finally, the Communist party had enough,

they decided to launch a sharp rebuff,

the night of June Fourth it commenced,

a harsh act no one had sensed.

 

The military arrived, tanks rolled out,

and then it was certain beyond a doubt,

the party had reacted with violence,

while the world looked on in silence.

 

Gunshots flew,

crimson bled into the midnight blue,

the thousand voices of the oppressed,

were once again muted and suppressed.

 

A shocking event in history,

doomed to remain shrouded in mystery,

the Communist party hid the fact,

that they were the ones who decided to attack.

 

"Much ado about nothing," they stated,

arresting all those who debated,

"In the last century!" they exclaimed,

the student protesters took the blame.

 

And so the censorship began,

cameras installed into the city plan,

the people who dared to speak of 6/4,

were locked up behind a big metal door.

 

Time went on, other nations asked,

"whatever became of those amassed?"

the Communist party was not very truthful,

and they framed the naivety of the youthful.

 

"Counter-revolutionary actions," they said,

"it is unfortunate that some ended up dead."

"But the disturbance taught us a powerful lesson,

and in the coming years the outcry will lessen."

 

Years and years flew by,

the protesters matured with a wistful sigh,

and the new generation came rolling in,

oblivious to the horrors from within.

 

Twenty-five years later, the year of two-thousand fourteen,

the police arrested those who wrote about the scene,

as the Communist party continued to deny,

what had transpired before their very eyes.

 

The youth of China now, you see,

know illegally of this event in history,

the details were wiped from each and every book,

the freedom of speech the party took.

 

Elders these days do not mention it,

they would rather be safe and submit,

the ship of the fearful contains many passengers,

who deny the Tiananmen Square massacre.

 

"Never forget 6/4", the populace said,

"and the students and teachers who ended up dead."

"Give me liberty or give me death!" some yelled,

but what happens if that promise is withheld?

((A/N: see note in comments below. Also, the image to the right really hit me hard when I found it and is the inspiration for this poem.))