my dream:
a march of thousands lost
searching in vain for one another
to find themselves
but at what cost?

the plaintiff, shuffling feet
cast indecision, stares mirrored.
Our juries scattered for miles and years
the horizon naught to drawing nearer.

let us be a lens, prismatic
turned to all injustices, so small and burned
let us be the spades, sharp and blood-oiled
turning earth to trenches, as footsteps churn

together we will mulch parliament
the feats of our fathers, crumbling upon our return
to the graves we've so desperately dreambt upon
since birth: destiny written on the urn.

we are the withered, the tired, the lost fights
the bloody nosed corner stones of the world.
it is our duty to pry, cry, and crumble
tumble laboriously, with love and sin
we will be the first hurled.