A Poem in Three Paragraphs

We are all locked in a small room or confined in a partially fenced yard. There is a farm and hills on the unfenced side, but those who know say you get shot if you go there.

Just across the street you can take refuge in a small house, a hospital ... if you get get past the wire. But some who escaped there last night got caught and things just fell apart. I can imagine the raid.

This is a world run by juveniles who confine us. This is the human who hunted and slayed the neanderthal. This is the way of the brownshirted crowd, that values spirit over the mind. This is the way of my nightmares.