The Puzzled Pen

The freedom songs the ******* sing Every time the bells of slavery ring; The anthem the shepherd boys scream When hope is nothing but a dream; The future beyond their very eyes Whose passion gets colder than ice; The tears on those bereaved faces Of so many people in different places; The agony of unanswered questions That tend to unimaginable tensions; The insults conceded in open shame When no other would take the blame; The fears of being for love forsaken By those for which the choice was taken; The path on which to softly tread To never for once miss a daily bread; The bed of roses on twinkling turns Changing into ugly and prickly thorns; These and more dazes this puzzled pen When in the hands of I, of all men.