Are we not all dying soldiers
waring against life,
time – its bullets by the second dodged
doggedly as steps make the days go by?
Are we not all soft earth,
dirt slowly turning from
dusk to stone as dusk
gives way to glorious dawn?
Are we not more than the names
etched on concrete,
fledglings before flight,
birds before feathers,
hoping the weather’s right;
bats before night,
assailed by the day;
knights before the fray
seeking passion’s delights
before the play?
Are we not the walls that separate
the words that divide,
the boxes that define,
confine,
coffin-e?
We are, growing out of the boulders we create,
the peace we destroy,
out of the words we chose employ,
the hands we forsake
and hearts we shake (or stake).
QUAKE!! for unless we change we’ll stay.
© Denis Adide 2013
