Plus Syria in Poetry
The Treaty
by Katie Williams
So you got locked up in the joint for smoking a joint and making a point, well that’s just the time in which we live.
And have you forgotten how it feels, to know you’re a spoke on the wheel, on the railroad of tomorrow?
All aboard the future train, mountains high fields of grain, wake up my generation.
And I hate to break it to you doll, the fights not easier at all, but it’s better side-by-side.
The world was light now it’s gray, it’s getting darker every day, so for god’s sake hold my hand.
Sister, brother, where are you mother? Our forefathers are dead and gone. Raise your right hand, make a treaty with the man, and you are on your own.
So you say that you decay, you read the paper every day, you know I don’t believe you.
Your map, it lacks yellow green, blue and red is all you see, and neither side is winning.
Syria is a far-off place, all you do is turn your face. Oh, now that’s better.
But the oil spills on grassy hills, you take the tranquilizing pill of gradualism.
And so you know the wind does blow just as cold on freedom’s door, please god hold my hand.
Sister, brother, where are you mother? Our forefathers are dead and gone.
Raise your right hand, make a treaty with the man, and you are on your own.
(Editor’s Note: NonDoc provides Sundaze as a weekly space for poetry, short prose, visual art and other ideas pitched by creatives in Oklahoma and around the world. All submissions are encouraged, and new creatives are sought. Submit your work for publication by contacting Editorial@NonDoc.com.)
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