By Benjamin Shapiro 
Two men meet,

Cotton field,

Chains are thrown about,

Used as weapons,

Only one has power

And only one runs to be free.
Bullwhip tears back-flesh

As one says,

“ He is a danger to all,”

But not the one

Who was running away,

Petrified.
Two men meet,

Traffic stop,

Words are thrown about,

Used as weapons,

Only one is truly armed

And only one turns to flee.
Bullet tears back-flesh

As one says,

“ He was a danger to me,”

But not the one

Who was running away,

Terrified.

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