Revolutionaries

his warm glowing eyes screaming thank you
staring out of the cold rock that inhabits a spot in the desk he sits
i see it. i can always see it.
they’re a mask, but a true mask.
a small truth that has yet to surface.
smiling i welcome the birthing soul.

fingers of a broken promise stretch out
gently caressing my heart
screaming for answers to brokenness
scratching nails rip a small scar of memories
kissing the fingers i place them on top of the scar
to stop the bleeding.

a picture of a child swinging
careful not to scribble over the black lines
colored in an attempt to please
she hands it to me again
same as yesterday
my shadow is with me
clinging to my heels,
can my attention heal?

threats of hatred uttered
unable to scratch the walls of my calloused heart
pealing the threats away all i find is pain
loss of a mother, a father, a life
the threats bounce off the heart
ricocheting to the irises of my eyes
piercing a hole to let the tears fall.

so many different faces
speaking such different languages
all hiding the same thing
all with the same plea
a loss of innocence
yet still at the age of innocence
each one desperately using
self taught languages
yet to be translated
begging for our forgiveness
for sins they never committed
clinging to our love
seeking and fighting for a hope
which has yet to be found.

all these small revolutionaries
who are unknowingly
standing on soap boxes
on every corner of our streets
each one begging for us
to do something about the injustice

we walk past
shaking our heads at society.
shedding a single tear
for the Victims.