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.