life without the United States Constitution
the paper burned quietly,
no fireworks,
just a thin sick smoke
curling up from the courthouse steps
like a tired prayer nobody meant.
and the people kept walking
because hunger doesn’t wait for laws
and rent doesn’t care about ideals.
without that old spine of rules,
the street learned new muscles—
fists instead of words,
boots instead of ballots,
sirens instead of sentences.
a man got taken in the alley
for saying the wrong thing
to the wrong uniform.
no charges, no record,
just an empty chair at breakfast.
the churches filled up fast,
the jails faster.
every promise needed a gun to back it up,
every job needed silence,
every silence needed fear.
the rich hired walls,
the poor learned shadows.
rights became a rumor,
like a clean river
or an honest deal.
you could still drink yourself blind,
still fall in love with the wrong person,
still wake up wondering where it all went wrong—
but now there was no place
to point your finger
except at the sky
or at the man with the badge
or at the mirror.
and the mirror wouldn’t testify.
so people learned to whisper again.
they learned to look down.
they learned that power
likes an empty room
and hates a crowd.
freedom didn’t vanish in an explosion—
it leaked out slow,
through boredom,
through fear,
through men who said
“this is just how it has to be now.”
and that was the worst part:
not the chains,
not even the blood,
but how ordinary it all felt
after a while.
like bad weather
you stop complaining about
because it never moves on.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
