When Freedom Grows Cold

When Freedom Grows Cold (not a nice poem) One day the dogs will not bark. I/we will not be ready, as they will have failed... to do all that was needed, and asked of them. Perhaps not their fault, as in Venezuela... they are eaten by the poor. There are a lot of hungry, there. Not so many dogs, anymore. At church, we fold dollars, with funny pictures, of past and present rulers, unimportant now. Once hailed high in that foreign land, now laid low by socialism, and "FREE for ALL". Basically worthless colors, to make butterfly bookmarks, small angels to fly from tome to tome, and hail the dangers of censorship, the lack of freedom to discuss ideas... freely from both sides of the fence, fake news and propaganda, one in the same, a mirror into manipulation. Built from the bones of the sad, and the lost, impaled on indecision... once the high and the mighty. Guns and violence given bad names, bestowed as treason, and murder. The truth, defendable land... against tyrants and kings, that pressure the weak into pits, and shoot them for sport.