Twisted Veins

A Poem by Randolf Ramos

Within my veins flows this blood of oppression
Of which Bleeding, I cannot contain.
Though twisted, not my malady
It shows as self inflicted pain?

And through time I succumb to grave
I wished this blood renewed anew
Never will I succumb to death
Without curing inequity.

Ti's twisted, my veins so as the blood in its path.
Oh senses, sense not a terminal infirmity.
Twisted lies, for my wasting body,
but never for this soul and spirit
who is dying gracefully.