America enters not as shepherd,
but as wolf cloaked in justice.
You called Chávez tyrant,
you brand Maduro a trafficker—
yet your own markets drink the poison
you pretend to purge.
O America, double-tongued master of shadows,
you strike ships in waters that belong to none,
and proclaim yourself the law.
But power without restraint breeds fear,
and fear sharpens the knives of the forgotten.
The South remembers.
The poor remember.
You beat them, mock them, steal their bread,
and name it order.
Every empire that scorns the weak
will find the weak no longer bow.
Maritime law you violated,
the covenant of nations you broke.
Your hand strikes like a mafia lord,
not a leader of men.
The world watches, trembling—
yet taking note:
the bully tires,
the crowd grows bold.
History writes slowly,
but writes in iron.
Venezuela weeps now,
but her tears are seeds.
And the dog you thought chained forever
prepares to rise.
Remember, America—
every throne is mortal,
and every day of glory
has its dusk.
Categories:
trafficker, abuse, america, bullying, confusion,
Form: Free verse
(1/15/13)
the human trafficker sells your body , sells your soul
they keep you under their control.
to them you are just a piece of meat
for humanity to sit and eat.
the younger the victim the easier to control
by the time they're teens- their spirit is cold.
no longer do they have the will to fight
it's become their way of life.
they never had a childhood or a family to love
or to even know what love's about
for their hearts and minds have been turned inside out.
fear is the only thing they know
and in their face it will show.
many are bought and put on the streets
if they don't meet their quota - they don't eat.
then there are those who are sold privatly
those are the ones that you never see.
most are girls - but there are boys
and they're all used as sexual toys.
we have to let all countries know
human trafficking has got to go.
(C) L . RAMS
Categories:
trafficker, pain, people,
Form: Rhyme
Only wheeled things come in traffic
And not the meek earth-tilling brown hands
Coerced to stoop low, dogged to contrabands.
Spirits and bones chastised by stick,
A contract avowed played on a trick.
Now on the edge of cliff justice stands.
Only wheeled things come in traffic.
A trafficker should exist only in the lanes
To impede the hustling racing bands
and not to sell others’ flesh and brand
these humans whore in chains.
Only wheeled things come in traffic.
© Glenn L. Sentes
Adjudged 8th Place in Nette Onclaud's "Rondine the Traffic of Life" Contest
07-31-2012
Categories:
trafficker, people, social,
Form: Rondeau