The ones in glass houses-

The ones in glass houses-


I can scream and I can shout, what difference would it make to-
the ones at the top, who believe the world is their game-
and they live with their crowns, reveling in people’s misery-
and they shut their glass doors, to the voices of masses crippling.

And I try and I’ll try, little difference it makes to those-
whose hearts have been numbed, by vices a long time ago.
And my words, flutter past, their ears like empty promises-
and they think, their silence, over time will diminish my spirit.

One by one the rest may fall to the ground,
but I implant my feet in the soil of the land-
and the silence thrown by the ones wearing crowns,
only help to make my resolve grow stronger.
And the glass doors shut to our pleading cries,
will one day crumble from the strength of our voices-
and with that I go to sleep every night-
and I wonder, I ponder how you sleep at night.

I will scream and I will shout, I believe it will make a difference-
and if not, then I’ll die trying, knowing I did my sole best.
‘Cause I know, it’s not time to worry yet,
and my lungs aren’t saturated-
you can sleep tonight while my tears hole the ground,
they remind me my heart hasn’t numbed from your acts.
And the glass doors that shelter you will come to crack,
awaiting that is what keeps my feet on the ground.
And indeed, that day will arrive.