miles to go

(after Robert Frost)

 

blood flows 

         hot and               ragged

a collective thrum.

walls

 surround 

    them, 

they have chosen to 

            let our cries be drown out by 

their preachers

whose shouts of condemnation do                     nothing 

                             but spur us 

further on

 

this will not be the culmination of 

                               feet marching on            cobblestone streets,

                         pepper sprayed petals in                 hair,

                combat boots crunch over                       broken      glass,

 

and miles to go before we sleep,   

 

and miles to go before I sleep.