An Imagined Protest for Freedom is Reality Becoming

Once again, I watched the news, crying for the people, their families and the innocent getting arrested and disappearing in ICE custody.

NO ONE IS SAFE!

Not to cause alarm but my philosphy when your country has been taken over by thugs, criminals, and Nazis it is not an innovative idea to bury one's head in the sand. Remain alert, awake, and learn to filter your tine between the good, the bad, the ugly, and lollipop land.

An Imagined Protest for Freedom is Reality

Becoming a

Song of 2025 of a Real Dystopian Arrests of Good People

Imagine a crowded street filled with people holding signs and banners, their faces a mix of determination and fear.

The army, in uniform, stands in a line, some with shields and batons, others with rifles.

The tension in the air is palpable as the protesters chant and the soldiers move in to make arrests.

It's a powerful and intense image, highlighting the clash between civil unrest and authority.

Verse 1

In the neon hush of 2025,

we gather like thunder beneath digital skies.

Signs raised high, trembling with truth,

marching through memory, marching for proof.

Boots on pavement, hearts in sync,

The city breathes fire, right on the brink.

Bridge (Spoken)

Imagine a crowded street

faces lit by protest and fear,

banners like battle cries in the wind.

The army stands still,

shields like silence, rifles like warning.

The air crackles.

A chant rises.

And history holds its breath.

Chorus

We are the echo, we are the flame,

Calling out justice, naming each name.

We are the thunder, we are the spark,

Lighting the truth in the belly of dark.

No more silence, no more shame

We rise, we rise, we rise again.

Verse 2

She stands in the crowd, fists wrapped in tape,

a photo of her brother and his last day, his escape.

Eyes like embers, voice like stone,

marching so no one stands alone.

His absence burns beneath her skin,

a silent scream she carries within.

Outro

And when the sirens fade,

and the streets fall still,

her voice remains

a whisper against the will.

Not gone.

Not broken.

Just waiting

to rise again.

A woman stands motionless in the center of a surging protest.

Around her, the crowd blurred faces streaked with urgency, signs waving like flames.

But she is still. Time slows. Sound fades to a low heartbeat.

Her hand grips a torn photo creased, weathered, trembling.

It’s the face of her brother, who vanished in ICE custody.

She doesn’t hear the chants. She doesn’t see the cameras.

For a moment, she is inside a bubble of memory and grief.

Alone in the noise.

But not broken.

The world rushes back in and she lifts her head.