YefreytorIvan
Sometimes what we want shines bright and clean,
A promise sold like something unseen.
We swear it's priceless, sacred, free-
Yet somehow it comes with a receipt for me.
Eighty years of thunder, smoke, and flame,
Different flags, but the same old pain.
Hundreds of millions erased to dust,
Not for survival-but for pride and trust.
Bodies piled where borders were drawn,
Names forgotten by the very next dawn.
The wounded linger, alive but bent,
Paying interest on a debt never meant.
Billions burned just to break the ground,
Trillions more to fix what was found.
Cities rebuilt, then scarred again,
but now with cold stone graves for Kevlar-clad men.
They asked, "Is freedom worth the cost?"
While counting what was already lost.
The answer changed with who survived,
And who got buried, unnamed, archived.
So tell me now, with history's tone:
Was it sacred? Or just an "iPhone"?
Was sovereignty a cause to die?
Or politics' newest product, rebranded,
Another iPhone, sold with a lie.