Ideas Never Die

Ideas Never Die
By: Zachary Wampler


In shackles, we were dragged before an allegedly honest court.
There would be no pardon, no innocence, nothing of the sort.
Quick, ruthless, and efficient there would be no legal document to sign;
For us, only the firing squad lay at the end of the line.
Fear does not consume us, we still stand with iron resolve and clenched fist.
The court never spoke of our crime, pretending it did not exist;
If they did then the idea might grow, what’s the reason?
Because if it grew, none would dare call it treason.


The execution was to take place immediately, there would be no reprieve;
No plans of grand escape, for us they hoped nobody would grieve.
They paraded us through the streets, at us civilians threw rocks and fruit.
They called us vermin, evil wretches, and thieves that did nothing but loot.
Finally we were stopped, backs shoved against a brick wall, black bags veiled over our faces.
This wall would be our final stand, of all the places.


We remained silent as we stood there, in the hands of the law;
Citizens went quiet as the firing squad marched in, they’d remember what they saw.
Heavy boots pounded the ground as they line up uniformly in front.
Though blindfolded, we knew that each held a rifle like one used to hunt;
Their prey before them, the hunt was over, and there could be only one.
The order to ready was shouted, the sound of every man preparing their gun.
We would serve as an example of what happened to those that fought;
What happened to those that got caught.


“Fire,” the firing squad barked as each soldier pulled the trigger.
To them, our deaths were meaningless, just another insignificant figure.
To the corrupt government, I give a bit of advice to which you should lend an ear;
You might as well turn the firing squad around and shoot down everybody here.
For while you have shot us down, sending us home in the sky;
I tell you, ideas never die.