November 26th, 2011

The soft bare flesh of your palms
Marred along with the bony knees
That refuse to carry you along this path
Dirt and gravel dig into your skin
As you sit facing the Eastern Gate
Prostrate like a child before your relentless master
On hands and knees too weak for strength
But too strong to kneel
Defiance is your name
As you grit your teeth and grip the gravel
Between your blistered fingers
There is no blame just a silent battle
As you crash to ground
Like the rebounded toss
Of the writer’s crumpled paper
As another idea
Dies and dies again
Breathe in the ochre
Of this ground where you find yourself kneeling
Paint your face with the ochre
Of the very ground you were once told to kneel upon
Let it be your armor, your war paint
In the coming battle
Where once you had hesitation
Shaking as straw in the wind
Let this gravel be your battlefield
And your oppression become strength
We are the children of warriors
But we have yet to prove ourselves
Even as you sit with battered pride
And bleeding palms
This is just your beginning
Let this blood be the signature
That is remembered by all
You who wept for what was right
We remember your name

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