He ran through streets where shadows crept,
A hunted man, no time for rest.
With every breath, the noose was drawn,
While crowds cheered death like it was jest.
His world was screens and flashing lights,
Where justice bowed to ratings high.
A father’s face burned in his mind—
The reason why he would not die.
Through smoke and blood, he made his stand,
A rebel in a rigged charade.
He showed the cost of cruel applause—
And made them fear the game they made.
The Enlightenment Project 
Leave a comment