Ancient Wounds

In the shroud of conformity Bleak reality is whited out Shout to the heavens Demand the chains that bind the broken, Spoken are those works which are seldom heard As we come crashing into the abyss, A senseless spiraling out of control As words becomes weapons Which open ancient wounds Split skin between black and white, Fight the urge to spew spite Reunite the skin as Yin joins yang And intertwine them with vine From the divine, As we find a higher purpose, To see the world in color But judge in hues of gray.