My façade might look dirty to you

my thoughts inside to dark

~

but you holy man

with your mowed lawns and trimmed thoughts

a fifth column of tyrants disguised  

~

you might find the likes of mine

everywhere and detest

pouring your world of petty resentment

into our rejection

~

you might seem to win

for now

and await the return of the heimat

and 1933

but the young of mind will more than ever

forget your past

you

and deny all of us your hateful gods

~

progress is not just a word

an act

or a wish

it’s something that happens

rolling downhill to a better place