Ideals are the cause of death.

The children will not understand the irony of Belgium chocolates
Bittersweet melted in twisted mouths.
They will not know the betrayal of their future.
Beaten and broken beneath darkness.
Ribs cracked and stomachs perforated
For speaking a vision of peace and unity.

No, the children will not know
Their independence was stolen
Under the guise of foreign government intervention
and envious factions
Sharing their same faces.
The children will not know
Their voice was silenced
In a barrage of bullets.
Black Judases and overseas Pharisees
Conspired cowardice
For the promise of power and the absence of autonomy.

The children will not know
The bloodshed and acid burn
Paid for the possibility of their freedom.
A dream assassinated.
A man's sacrifice.
A country's liberty
Co-opted for corrupt politics &
Fear of a free people.

No, they will not understand Mobutu's mourning.
His forked tongue declaration of Lumumba as a national hero
After consuming his body in flames and dust
To erase the unease of his memory.
Leaving a legacy destroyed and the Congolese distraught
War torn republic and an endless river of blood.

Ideals are the cause of death.

But the children will one day understand with knowing eyes how their future was betrayed.