The wish for a coming revolt of the guards
Did not emerge with any expectant breath
Or a momentous thunder of rebellion.
Instead…
It passed between the dreaming walls of our hope,
Silent and mortified.
It wove its way near the heart and fell away
Breathless.
We hungered for its branding mark to walk upon
Our shields. We’re ready for the next great one,
The next sun to etch its words on our caution.
We see ourselves as we imagine; a rescuer,
A warrior of unending good, a rebel without history
looking for a voice to call his own.
We’ve tossed our coins into the breathing fountain
And hidden our shame in the thankless gutter,
We’ve carried our bodies across our days
Like hand grenades;
Immigrants in a strange land of heavy skies.
Howard Zinn...
rest in peace.
