~
Behold the last of your mercy:
an old soldier, winter in his knees;
weary from bleeding that the young might have voice.
Treacherous are the lords who excise tongues,
dub questions treason; name silence safety;
make fear their favored virtue.
Muzzle hope; blindfold the prophets—nations bend their backs.
Hope, aye—’tis a far star, yet moving.
Change must come by speech, not blood.
Keep the word alive, brother’s keeper,
lest night become law and unmake us, seam by seamless shadow.
~