by jamh

I am, like most of you
holding my breath, hopeful
that enough might be
just for once enough.

But I was born scared
of bullets, of blood, spilling for
an unsatisfactory state.
I always said: no, wait.

So my voice shall not count.
And just like in the books
I read to my children,
you, heroines and heroes,

I urge you not from my head,
not in this slimy land of justice,
not when Power is just so
utterly predictable.

I do dream that for you,
clad in a neon like armor,
I can walk through gates
that the guardians have shut.

I can grab by the hair
those that hide the most
those with bags of gold
under their humble hut.

Perhaps it would be better
to say with bags of coal
from a deep black well
under their melting igloo.

No, not fueled by revenge,
my dream comes from
my children's future realm
as your brave actions surely do.



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