Guilt-stricken trunk

Dictatorship

A guilt-stricken trunk

Painting transparent glue to grip

Onto its dying branch

Every stifling second.

Now that the glue has dried and the mirage embedded

The terminally-ill branches thought they were born again

Fed with propaganda

They say I had my meal.

However,

You who see and think bravely

Is one stalwart branch

Sensitive to dictators’ glue

Smart enough to not be killed

In the meaning producers

The hearts and brains in motion

With morose,

Human rights activists

Are stalwart branches on their own

Mostly because

The saws are always coming after them

Before anything else.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/branch/”>Branch</a&gt;

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