The Cry of a People, Resilient

Photo by Phoebe Harms

the world is


hushed silvers and the

palest gray you’ve ever seen chokes the air into

three categories:

us, them, and everyone else.

a muted breeze carries a

drop of color that

falls to the ground and bursts to life;

a mash of reds and blues and yellows and,

yes, everything

in between.

this is the cry of a people, whispered.

the world is


never fully supporting diversity of the soul over

conformity of the opinion.

rough words

sharpened to points and serrated edges and

torchlight carries the hymn of self-destruction.

their red, red firelight moves to raze path for the

black and white and gray to settle back in its

dug-out place, overlooking a

haphazardly dug mass grave.

there is the cry of a people, terrified.

the world is

frozen over in ice, begging to prosper under the weak

wintertime sun.

ashy stragglers of plant stems threaten to push past the


gray little things with no incentive to live.

is there blue water and yellow sun waiting for it when it

breaks free?



just miles and miles of the same

colorless wasteland that

they call pristine.

i call it


their so-called hard-fought land and values do not

stand a chance against the golden soldiers of love,

cannot prevail when we bleed

oh-so red when they cut

our painted skin.

you take our people, we take your illusion.

gone are the days of cowering in the dark corners—

we will stand under the light of one thousand sun showers,

just for a glimpse of a rainbow in the drying air.


is the cry of a people, determined.

the world is


and it is the hope and the

strength and the

will to change.

and it is this,

the fight, and them,

the people, the warriors, the lovers,

that will prevail.

white paint may mute the colors of the


but they will always be there,

underneath it all.

this is the cry of a people,


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