I walked that road in Georgia where the air still held the heat of the plantation, though the masters had fled to England or New York. A man with a fine carriage rolled through, pretending to care for the soil, while the old house stood empty behind him. The dust settled on porches that once welcomed families who now starved in the shadows. I saw the white doors where tragedies were born and hidden, places where fathers lost their sons to despair and poverty took its toll on the broken hearts of those left behind.

I ask you to look beyond the surface of wealth and see the hollow men it creates. When money rules without soul, it steals more than land; it steals the future from children who should have known only bread. Do not let your eyes rest on the empty houses or the faded welcome signs, for these are monuments to a system that promises life but delivers death. We must build something where the mind is free and the heart is fed, or we shall all sleep in paupers’ beds while the world passes on indifferent to our cries.