BY VALENTYNA HOLLOWAY
They came in the night
to our cities, our towns,
they crossed through the countryside
like warriors with shovels and crossbows.
Chopping, shooting, digging
at the roots of our foundation
unable to accept reason
or a peaceful resolution of conclusion,
even though it was the majorities decision.
(Forgive them don’t understand the light
the truth, it burns)
They bite the hand that feeds
until it runs blood red into the
mouths that swallow their tongues
the ones fearful of speaking out,
of having their voices heard,
yet there are the brave —
Those that are not afraid to stand out.
Those not blending with the weeds in the forest.
Support them, nourish them don’t let them conform
Their words taken, persecuted, and twisted,
the words that dared to become unburied
unconforming to the persecution of self-appointed
executioners of political correctness wielded like axes.
But there is hope laced through the fear.
Somewhere in the undaunted dawning the inevitable
will invoke and when all the smoke
and mirrors subside the cloudless sky
will cast down freedom from despair and
the realisation it was fear of change
all the fighting was for.