I stand on land that was threatened and shared.
I stand on grass that grows taller than my knees.
I stand on porous concrete, saturated
with memories from footprints of those who
walked, fell, danced, ran, begged, cried, and wondered why
their lives continued to linger without
a purpose of which they could comprehend.
Hurt and tortured, terrifically betrayed,
all the scars are still fresh on their faces.
These stories are covered up with foundation,
a simple reminder to have temptation,
because punishment promises to be
unpromised, and silence is secured
with a contract, --- sealed with a fingerprint
stamped on, with a crimson red hue that dries
too slowly, and is too ashamed to drip
and stain the perfectly painted picture that
portrays synthetic-peace, it hung atop.