by Jerome Robinson
We aren’t free, while someone’s knee is on our neck, our hands are cuffed, and three others stare silently. Reduced to squirming like worms, we bellow like the day we were born into this unjust world.
Violence and destruction are obvious responses, but we must be cautious, because there are more than sheep and wolves in our midst. In due time, social and political complexities will reach a breaking point. Then, citizens will take to the streets, demanding a purposeful existence, which was supplanted by automation and wealth inequality—the National Guard will be called in, to maintain peace, but without any meaningful solutions, the populace will grow restless and take to the streets.
Eventually, short of a nuclear apocalypse, there will be an overhaul of the current institutions, and society will begin to rebuild; years of solemn reflection will follow, and the newborns come of age to utter their first queries about our awe-inspiring world—shining before their pure, spherical, windows into reality—they’ll ask their parents, “What happened to everybody’s eyes?”
The parents will sigh, and respond in unison, “We couldn’t see past our differences.”