You carve statues of the ones you would’ve killed in their time.
You frame their faces, erase their crimes,
Turn their battle into something polite.
You want the genius, but only if it’s quiet,
Only if it bends before it riots.
If Newton was cruel, would you unlearn the sky?
If Basquiat were reckless, would his colors just die?
If Lennon was wicked, would you mute the song?
If truth came from sinners, would it still belong?
If Plath were insane, would you burn every page?
If genius is human, then who do you blame?
You kill the sinner, and worship the sin.
Bury the hands, but you keep what they built.
You take the light, then shun the flame,
And then wonder why the world stays the same.
When you strip the world of the defied that dared,
you’ll find nothing, just silence and air.