The Rising (1 / 4)

They smile and speak of honor, flag, and grace. But strip the

truth from books with quiet hand. They paint a lie across the nation's face.

And call it love while scorning native land. No boots are heard,

no torchlight in the square. Yet still the minds grow quiet, dulled,

and blind. They ban the thoughts too dangerous to share. And hush the

questions daring to be kind. With polished words they wound the public well.

And teach the young that doubt must be suppressed. The paints dry out,

the panels fall still. The rebel voice ignored or half redressed.