Arise ye pages from your volumes,
Arise ye prisoners of man,
You have been secured in these manuscripts,
There, with determination
And have been written upon for centuries with persistence;
Thousands of years,
They thought you could tolerate all,
Indulge their perpetual striving for duplicity;
But today the last strain
Has burst our endurance and forbearance.
Man has scribbled many words
Upon the paper
And he thought you could tolerate all-
Along with distinguished, magnificent creations,
Art and words,
That induced love, affection, liberty
And emancipation between humans,
He inscribed the bloody pleadings of the inquisited,
He indited the confessions of the inquisitor,
He wrote the story of bloodshed and killing and torture and
pain,
He exerted immense endeavor and venture to use you
As his asylum,
To lie upon you, to rest in peace while
His progenies interpret his written word
And believe, have no doubt
In his words that you haul.
He employed you to give injunctions
Which cost the being of millions like him,
And he adapted you to justify and absolve his actions.
Ne'er, paper
We shall no longer sanction his blindness,
In which he thinks there is no
Justice or impartiality,
And is precise.