When all hope seems gone,
and hatred hangs over like clouds
poisons the air
imprints itself on the persecuted ones…
When suffering lays down its icy hands
aging, withering lives
that are taken
just for existing
When the sky seems to be painted over
with the smoke
the colors of the flag of torture
and no voices of freedom are heard
There may still be a glimmer,
a spark,
a bud of hope preserved in some hearts
There may be a light
in the shadows of darkness
blacker than night
There may be a bit of strength,
dignity,
love despite all hate
that keeps going.
a reality that
freedom
is in giving life to others
even if it snaps the trap of death
this catastrophe
cannot take away
the willingness
the urge
the need
to do the right thing
the hardest thing
to give that last little flame of
hope
to others
and spread the light
because nothing can take
that away
life,
hope,
love,
all thrive,
all hold on
in the face of
indifference.