Night of the Murdered Poets

Ink runs red. Pages burn. Ink runs red. Pages burn. History screams through

a clenched iron fist. Tonight, the poets rise. Oh!

Oh! Dragged from the shadows where truth was bound. Thirteen voices silenced

underground. Pens like weapons, words like flame, crushed beneath a tyrant's name.

Blood on the parchment, fear in the air. Justice broken by

the state's cold stare. Accused of treason for daring to speak.

Ripped from the world for defending the weak. Steel doors groan, the verdict screams.

A nightmare carved from shattered dreams. Ink and bone, in darkness drown. The hammer falls.