To Persecute

The laughs of cruel ones found the grounds,

an order for the jackle's sounds,

they scowled and cackled in the face,

of a small and dying race,

just as the reincarnated hated,

by segregation discriminated,

scars have children separated,

so the child of wounds, death carnated,

“stay away!” said they to it,

which ride away in chariots,

of coal and brimstone rides upon,

alone forever from thereon,

a time struck child of faithful soul,

cast away to hills of coal,

sobs of turquoise raged the skies,

where the time stuck child lies,

due to hatred of the people,

proud and set upon a steeple,

not to know disquieting sorrows

to snare children of tomorrows,

who tread into a persecution,

worthy of a revolution

hatred do all they embrace,

hating all of other race,

for theirs in hatred most advanced,

keeping all of wealth entranced,

with envy for the worldly things,

which thrust upon destruction's wings,

so how reside this gruesome people,

set upon a prideful steeple?

They live within a rosy dome,

but flee in crimson catecomes,

to kidnap those of freedom's minion

and hate a race of time struck children,

p.s: i wrote this when i was 13