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June 4, 1997
June 4, 1989
Monuments of bodies in oppression’s distant lands
corpses high, piled rotting in the sun
death strikes the ones who would change,
the ultimate weapon of the fool.
They die in vain, it seems at times,
but their blood will find its voice
if not now then at the throne
where judgment will rejoice.
But now, beneath the whitewashed walls,
change must take place and people move
ere human freedom falls to dust
and tyrants wash the world in blood.
And on the toy I purchased for my son
“Made in China” proclaims my guilt.
Each New Day A Miracle
Copyright Peter Rhebergen
All rights reserved