Resistance Equals Death
Our democracy died on Jan twenty‑five,
the oath was spoken, and freedom didn’t survive.
Blue states strangled, starving to stay alive,
families praying that their children thrive.
Federal shadows patrol the streets,
black‑clad squads with synchronized beats.
Old hatreds rise from ancestral graves,
reviving the terror our elders once braved.
Neighbors taken before the dawn,
doors kicked in, and rights withdrawn.
Communities tremble with every breath,
learning the language of quiet death.
Those who shield the hunted and harmed,
ordinary souls who refuse to be charmed,
stand in the line where bullets are cast,
not “knights,” but people who won’t look past.
A president ruling by threat and fear,
echoes of fascism drawn near.
The thirties whisper through every decree,
history repeating for all to see.
The flags are staged, the crowds are loud,
The strongman stands above the crowd.
He smiles as freedoms fade to dust,
turning hope to rust, trust to distrust.
The streets grow louder, the air grows thin,
They punish the brave, the ones who begin.
Each voice that rises is swiftly met
With the price this regime demands, we get
One Last Breath
Resistance equals death.
©2026 Mary Robbins
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