Penetrating Certain Camouflages
Those who see with
Are lucky, they avoid
The dictatorship of the red,
The conformity of the green.
It is easier to turn away a steak,
A roast, the rich red is nothing,
Only gray matter on a plate,
A salad looks the same,
But it was never killed,
Only harvested.
Bloodshed gathers no more attention
Than spilt wine or syrup,
Memories find nothing vivid to latch onto,
Trauma is left behind, relinquished,
Justice can wear robes then, not dangle
A knife or a sword by its side.
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